Alternate Realities: The King's Hound
by Ehren Hatten
Summary: King Arthur is living as she is supposed to, as king of all England with her queen by her side. That is, until a ghost that knows she's a woman of an old Irish hero keeps pestering her. Chapter Nineteen up.
1. Prologue

_**A/n: my brain is on overload. I want to do several things at once, but I can't do them all at once, of course. So… I write a little here, I draw a little there and HOPEFULLY my brain will quit being so crazy. This always happens when I get a bunch of ideas coming at me at once. Thankfully, I wrote down some ideas in an outline so that my head wouldn't cry anymore.**_

_**My tamagotchi looks like a party favor. . **_

_**And this idea? XD It came to me because of The Silver Glass Hound. **_

_**Alternate Realities:**_

_**The King's Hound**_

_**Prologue**_

The pain was great in all of his body. Cuchulainn, the great Irish hero, the greatest of all Ireland's heroes, was dying. He knew that. He didn't honestly care that he was dying, really. What got him the most was that that nasty queen Maeve got her revenge on him finally by having these men raised up in various arts to defeat him. They used his own vows against him and weakened his spirit with these broken vows of his, making him easy pickings for their blood lust.

He held his sword ready still as he backed away from the deformed creatures that were the men killing him slowly. He wasn't going to be able to stand up for long and then those bastards would have a chance to use his body or his head as humiliation against all who loved him. No, he would die standing ready for them!

As he backed up, his back hit a post from an old sign and glanced at it briefly before he pulled his belt off and lashed himself to it hurriedly. His numerous wounds poured more of his blood down his legs and into the ground as he raised his sword high. It was getting cold now as he stood against that wooden post. The deformed men moved closer to him and he shot them each a steely eyed glare with his red devil like eyes. "You'll not come any closer," he said with a low growl, "I will take the head or hand of anyone who does!"

The men looked to each other in confusion, as though they weren't certain what they should do now. He wanted to laugh at the whole thing, but found he was in too much pain to try. He was backed into a corner and forced to lash himself to a post to keep himself standing while a bunch of deformed men born of the wife of a man he had killed when he was seventeen stood before him with little going through their demonic looking heads. The irony was not lost on him.

Life continued to drain from him; little by little, his body grew slacker against the belt holding him there, though his sword still remained held high. He strained to keep at least the sword up, if he could not his body. He gritted his teeth and shuddered against his self made restraint, the cold closing in on him. He opened his eyes for a moment as he looked up, a calm coming over his fair features. He smiled ruefully and closed his eyes. "Onto… the next great adventure," he said softly.

And then, he went still.

The great deformed men moved toward him, looking to each other curiously. One, the oldest of the brothers, moved toward Cuchulainn and reached for Cuchulainn's head, sword read to cut it off. Cuchulainn's sword moved down in a swift move. The great monster didn't see it and his head went rolling toward the little stream that Cuchulainn's blood flowed into. Frightened, the others ran off, leaving both dead bodies where they were.

* * *

Arturia Pendragon looked at the book before her, her hair down around her shoulders. Merlin was working on researching something as he left her to roam the library in his home. This book she had found had interesting things in it, including a picture of a man strapped to what seemed to be a sign post, or what used to be one, dead but with a sword held high. She was only a little girl, but she wasn't supposed to tell anyone that. To everyone but Merlin, Arturia was a little boy that her dad had sent to study with Merlin while he took care of her sister Morgan. 

She took the book over to Merlin and pulled her small frame up into the chair nearest to him, pulling the book up onto the table. "What is this?" she asked, big blue-green eyes alight with curiosity.

Merlin looked away from his book and his quill and eyed Arturia for a moment before looking to what she had picked out to look at. He raised his eyebrows and moved it closer to him, scratching his cheek as he did so. He did not look as old as he was, for his kind, the wizarding kind, did not age fast at all. He looked to be a man in his fourties, his hair graying from what used to be a dark golden color and left long about his shoulders. "This is the hero Cuchulainn of Ireland, Arthur," he said.

"Hero? Why is he strapped to a post?" she asked.

Merlin pointed to the words and nodded to them. "Read the passage to me aloud and tell me."

Arturia disliked reading a great deal. It wasn't that she couldn't do it, but that it was tiring and very tedious and she hated it when she mispronounced something to only get the correct pronunciation from her master sitting next to her. And reading all those words was incredibly tiring just from trying to comprehend what she was reading into words she already knew and a lot she did not know yet.

"Cuchulainn, greatest of all heroes in Ireland, was….. named th-… thusly because of an.. in..ki.. incident.. as a child," she read, slowly, to Merlin, who stayed patiently by her side and smiled faintly as he watched her try to read it aloud to him. "He had been… attacked by the black smith's guard dog and he killed it with his.. hurley stick in self defense. He.. felt gu… guilty for it.. and…vowed to take the dog's place until another dog could be raised. Thus he was named by everyone Chulainn's Dog, or Cu Chulainn."

Merlin smiled and took the book from Arturia, knowing she would continue to torment her mind if he did not. She would keep going with practice and do well with both writing and reading in the future. He simply did not feel it was right to burn her out quickly on it. "Was that all he was famous for, Master?" she asked, looking up at him in confusion.

"No, it says he did many great deeds here, however, you should get onto those sheets I made for you. I'll let you read it later if you finish them," he said.

Arturia had a very odd expression on her face, as though she was both loathing the thought of doing her paper work and liking it, or perhaps her curiosity had been piqued by the book with the hero Cuchulainn in it. Either way, he needed to finish his study of the stars and what they read out to him. He had always dreamed that one day, this young girl would become the greatest king in all of Britain's history, but he was uncertain of why she had been born a girl instead of a boy. That was a very puzzling thing indeed. However, he had told her mother and father that this was what was meant to be and by God or whoever roamed the heavens he was going to do as his dream bade him to. Her father had apparently known that she was to be a great person one day as well, trusting in Merlin a lot.

As he looked at the star chart before him, something cold went through his body. He looked at the chart and frowned even more. It would seem, he would get to take care of Arturia for much longer than she would ever want. Her father would either die that night or a little later, but one thing was for certain… he would die by the end of the week, leaving Arturia with her mother Igraine and her sister Morgan. Igraine would likely be very saddened by the death of her husband and would not be able to do the things she could before.

Merlin closed his eyes and rubbed his face. Arturia looked up at him and felt herself drawn to something else. A great sadness came over her that she could not explain as she gazed at the chart, though it made no sense to her why. Merlin was saddened and that meant something terrible was predicted in that chart that he did not like one bit.

* * *

Indeed, Arturia's father died within the week and her mother gave her to Merlin to raise, for she could not look at her without crying. Arturia was the spitting image of her father, the king of their land. As she was supposed to ascend to the throne by taking the kingsword from the rock he was placed in long ago when she was older, as the legends bade all kings of England do, she needed to be kept away from all who might take a chance to kill her. Merlin, thusly, was the only choice to keep her safe while she grew up to take that role. However, this did not stop the child from crying over this news. 

When they once more reached the home of Merlin, deep in the woods, Arturia could only sit and stare out the window. Merlin hoped that if he continued to try to take her interest away from her father's death that she might be able to talk to him again when she was ready. It wasn't really supposed to make sense, but, rather, it was mostly him trying to come up with a way to cheer her up.

It was on one of these sad days that Arturia noticed someone odd nearby; outside and lounging against one of the old oaks. She hopped off her chair by the window and walked out while her mentor was busy trying to come up with a better form of consoling her, slipping past him and out the door into the forest. She ran over toward the tree she had seen with the odd man sitting against it and stopped. He was not solid that she could tell, but he seemed real enough. Was he an angel? His face was pretty enough, his hair blue and cropped oddly while a long ponytail trailed behind him against the tree. He seemed as though he were asleep.

Arturia moved closer and found herself beside him. She reached a small hand up and poked his shoulder. It was though she was trying to poke through a curtain. There was substance, a resistance to her finger, but it was as though nothing was really there.

When she thought he wasn't going to move or do anything, she sat down next to him and looked up at him. It was then that he spoke, his voice gentle to her, though he did speak like he was an old soldier. "Now for what purpose does a little girl come to sit by a spectre?"

"Are you a ghost?" she asked.

He finally opened his eyes and glanced down at her, smirking faintly. "Aye, that I am. I'm a right scary one that should be left alone and not with the company of such a pretty little girl."

"I'm not a girl, I'm a boy," she said. "I'm Arthur." That was what her father insisted on everyone call her except he himself and her mother. She had grown somewhat accustomed to the strangeness of it and thought nothing of it.

His eyes were like looking into the eyes of the devil himself, red with slits for pupils, though the irises were normal sized. She gasped and moved away from him in fright. He eyed her a moment and looked away. "Funny, I've never seen a boy so frightened by a devil eyed old ghost like myself," said the spirit.

"You're not… you only startled me," she said, composing herself and moving closer. She sat stiffly on her knees, frowning greatly at having been taunted.

He chuckled and looked to her again, a calm smile coming over his handsome features. "You're sad by something, boy," he said softly. "What is it that saddens such a lad?"

"Nothing," she said defensively.

The ghost eyed her again and put a hand on her head, ruffling her hair somehow. She blinked and looked up at him. "You're going to be a very pretty young man when you grow up," he said softly, "Get all the joy you can out of life, for one day you'll simply be food for worms such as I."

The spirit soon got up and dusted himself off before bowing down to Arturia in a most gallant fashion. "Until we meet again, boy," he said, winking at Arturia before walking off into the forest and disappearing into the air.

Arturia looked at the place he disappeared and then back to her mentor's home. Merlin was coming out of the house and walking toward her with his staff in hand. He helped her up and looked around carefully. "Be careful, Arthur. In the future, tell me when you want to explore, so that I might know where to look should trouble arise."

Arturia nodded and followed Merlin into the house, looking back to where that strange ghost left until she was inside. Why was it she felt as though she had seen that face someplace before?


	2. Chapter One

_**A/N: aaaaaaaaaaaaaaand now my tama doesn't look like a party favor anymore. Anyway, I decided to make the first chapter this one and the previous one the prologue. :3 there now.**_

_**Chapter One**_

The sun rose up over the hills of Camelot's borders. There was a nice breeze flowing through the blades as they seemed to dance to the early morning spring music that filtered through the trees of the nearby forests. This was spring in Camelot and it was a good day. Outside of Camelot, near the borders, were skeletons of buildings overgrown with vines and various other bits greenery. These buildings were said to have been there when humans had huge cities and moving vehicles that needed no horses. Now, however, forests grew around these man-made structures and made everything green and lovely.

The kingdom of Camelot, most importantly that of the village and castle of Camelot, lay nearby to the old forgotten town. Only the animals, deer and rabbits and other creatures, inhabited it now. It was the same as it had been since several years ago, though it lay in a sorry state from the warring nobles trying to take the throne as king. Every man had tried the sword stuck inside the stone that lay in the middle of the town, but none could move it. So it stayed, looking dirty and in sore need of repair.

That is, until a young man appeared in the town, his name taken from the oldest of the oldest legends. They watched in awe as the young man, almost girlish in appearance, walked over to the sword and lifted it from the stone with hardly any effort at all. He had an older man beside him the entire time; a wizard named Merlin who seemed to be advising him to take the sword.

"If you take the sword, Arthur," he had said to the young man, "You might no longer be human… especially if I retrieve Avalon for you."

The young man, determination in his bright blue-green eyes, simply nodded and took the sword, holding it high over his head as the dirt and grime seemed to lift off of it, the sword shining brightly in the spring sun. Arthur Pendragon he claimed his name to be. The nobles wouldn't hear of him becoming king, for they each had a right to the throne. He had the direct blood line of the former king, Uther Pendragon, at his disposal and yet they would not acknowledge him for he was a bastard, his mother the lover of their king.

And so these nobles went to war against him. He had no need, however. He walked across the battle field, fearless, and offered the sword to the nobles who were against him. They considered this young man, and his offering, before declining the sword and pledging themselves to him. The boy, now considered a man despite how young he was compared to these seasoned knights and soldiers, seemed quite surprised by these turn of events and took them at their word.

And so, he rebuilt the castle that had been slowly decaying from disuse and took it as his home. There, he built up his advisory counsel, his knights, and the men soon decided he should have a wife to bear sons with. Arthur had said he would choose a bride when he found her, and so the knights took him at his word and continued on their ways. A woman came to Arthur then, a beautiful woman of a very small stature, but a beautiful face. It was just as well, for ever since Merlin had given the new king a scabbard for his sword, his face had not even grown so much as a beard. He too was very short, like a child compared to his knights, and so the queen's small stature and youth would not be a hindrance to the young man.

Lady Gwenivere was her name. Her bright blue eyes were like cool lakes, framed with dark lashes, her hair as dark as her lashes, her skin like milk and her cheeks and lips rosy. She was truly a fair woman; the perfect match for their fair king. And so Arthur married the young Gwenivere and took her land of Leoness into his kingdom.

It was on a fine spring day, much like the one he had pulled the sword from the stone on, that Arthur found himself gazing out the window of his study and remembering his childhood. His long blonde hair was pulled back into a braided bun at the back of his head, held together with a dark blue ribbon that matched the tunic he wore over his white shirt, gold trimming on the edges made strange patterns all over it. He remembered being a child, running about with his father, Uther, when he would come visit his mother. He remembered his mother's happy face when his father came around. His sister Morgan, however, never seemed to be very happy. She would always stare at Arthur with disdain, as though he were never to be trusted. He hardly knew why, though now it seemed easier to think she did not approve of his being there for he was not wholly her brother.

All day his head seemed to be stuck permanently in the clouds. He eyed his mirror with some coolness about his fair features, not entirely caring how he looked except for minor things. He really was entirely too feminine. If he were more masculine, he might have more of the men following him instead of having to prove to them that he was a good king before they would even acknowledge him.

Something flashed behind him in the mirror. He frowned and turned around to look, seeing nothing. It had been blue, whatever it had been. He turned back to the mirror and fixed his circlet before heading for the door of his chambers. Once more, there was a flash of blue, as though something tall and blue had moved very quickly out of the corner of his eye. He frowned more and walked out, his cloak pinned in place.

They had recruited a new knight, based upon his bravery in a battle that should not have occurred in the first place. It had been a minor discrepancy that had turned very ugly between two knights. Lancelot d'Lac had been passing by, his long black hair disheveled and his general appearance pleasant but dirty. It seemed the man had been on the road for a long time. Arthur had attempted to stop the fight, but being so much smaller had just then become a severe handicap. Lancelot, a man so much taller than Arthur and lanky, picked up a simple post from the ground, one that had been intended to be planted into the ground, and wielded it with the utmost grace of a seasoned swordsman. He had so greatly impressed Arthur that Arthur had immediately taken him in as a knight.

Lancelot walked past Arthur and bowed his head to him. "Good afternoon, m'lord," he said, his French accent light, but still present.

Arthur smiled faintly and bowed his head to him. "Good afternoon to you as well, Sir Lancelot. Please, tell me if you have seen anything strange as of late?"

"Whatever do you mean, my lord?" asked Lancelot, his pale blue eyes wide with surprise.

Arthur frowned and rubbed his head. "I don't know," he said softly, "I saw something just now inside my chambers. It was very fast, tall and… blue."

"Perhaps my lord has been working too hard? A day off would be all right, for you have us to deal with Camelot while you are not able," said Lancelot, frowning faintly. He smiled a little and relaxed some more. Arthur noticed the man had taken to growing a small bit of hair on his chin, but shaved everything else. "My king, you seem more troubled by something else than the strange spectre you were startled by in your chambers. What bothers my lord?"

Arthur shook his fair head and looked out to the light of the day, the prosperous village and the many people milling about. "I do not have anything that bothers me, Sir Lancelot," he said, his voice soft and careful, "I only have this strange feeling something has come to me that I have forgotten, but for the life of me I can not remember."

Lancelot regarded his king and nodded to him. "Perhaps Bedivere would be a better counselor to my king than I."

Arthur turned to Lancelot and smiled. It was like the smile of a beautiful woman, one that caused Lancelot to feel very strangely when he was witness to it. Arthur did not smile often and when he did it was as though the sun had come out more than ever. The queen and the king were like night and day compared to each other; she with her long dark tresses and pale complexion and he with his bright hair and almost glowing appearance. It was though the sun had indeed married the moon.

Lancelot and Arthur bid each other good day and each went their separate ways as Arthur continued to feel as though he were being watched from behind the entire time. If he looked out of the corner of his eye, he even could swear he saw a tall, lanky man in a blue kilt standing there. This unnerved him even more. Who was this fellow and why did he seem to be everywhere? Perhaps he really was haunted by a spirit of some sort.

He watched as his nephew Gawain helped to train some of the men in a particular way of fighting. Morgan had at least done something that had not made him feel unwelcome. She had born sons and allowed them to come to him to become knights in his kingdom, but would not come to see them unless it was a dire need. Gawain tossed the men with some effort, his build strong, but as tall and lanky as he could be. His long red hair, bright in the sun as well in the dark, was pulled back into a ponytail, a simple circlet holding the rest of his hair down on his head. Gawain lifted himself from the ground and laughed boisterously as he dusted his sweaty body off and clapped a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Oi! Oi! You should try not to lift me up so much as just roll me over your back. You saw how I did that. Now, you try it again and, this time, don't allow me to toss you!" He laughed again and Arthur moved away from his window.

Arthur stopped as he saw something in front of him. It was faint, but it was most definitely the same man he had been seeing all day. He pulled his sword out immediately and held it up towards the strange spectre. "You! Who are you and why have you been following me around!" he shouted.

The man was very handsome, though his grin was like that of a devil rather than an angel. He was tall and muscled, but lanky in build. He bore a strange tattoo on his right arm that looked like a great big elaborate arrow that ran down the length of his forearm. It was an outline with many swirls inside it as it seemed to wrap around his arm in swirling tendrils and an empty space inside the arrow of another arrow. There seemed to be another going across his chest, though it was mostly hidden underneath his white shirt, his blue kilt belted at the waist and the rest pulled around his shoulders and pinned with a small silver pin as though it were a cloak. He was very dashing to say the least!

Arthur, however, was not pleased when the spectre remained silent, the man smirking at him as though taunting him. "Speak or I shall call upon God to help me rid this place of you!" he snarled.

The ghost disappeared at that. Arthur ran over and looked around to make certain it was not a real person who had been before him. When he found no trace, he walked back up to his chambers, rubbing his face. Was he going insane? He could swear he knew that man, but could not for the life of him remember where he had seen him before!

Gwenivere was in their shared quarters, her child like face smiling faintly at him as he entered. "My lord, you look unwell," she said after a moment, frowning faintly as she moved toward him. She placed a hand on her husband's chest and he moved her hand aside.

"I need to be alone," he said.

Gwenivere watched him with a solemn face, saddened that her husband would not confide in her. Indeed, she kept the darkest of his secrets for him and indeed was a wonderful source of relief when he felt he could not handle something. She nodded slowly and kissed Arthur's temple before walking out.

A bright flash occurred not far from Arthur. He rubbed his eyes and looked around for the source of it, frowning when he found one. Could it have been his sword Excalibur? Or perhaps it had been Avalon?

"So, the boy grew up into an even prettier boy," said a man's voice, an Irish accent prevalent in it.

Arthur looked around and found the source leaning on the closed door. The man smirked faintly and moved away from the door. Arthur stood up and glared coldly at the spirit. "Who are you and why do you haunt me?"

"Haunt you? Hah!" said the spirit, chuckling as he moved closer. "No, I'm not haunting you. In fact, I'm here because I believe I wanted to see what became of that little boy my eyes frightened so."

"Who are you," said Arthur. He was becoming very irritated with this game.

"Ahhh, you should know me," said the spirit, smirking deviously. He put his hands on his hips and walked around Arthur. "By the way, I've been wondering something. I've been watching you for a while now, lad and something very obvious has been bothering me."

Arthur stood his ground, closing his eyes so that the man's walking around him wouldn't bother him so much. "What has been bothering you, sir?"

The man's voice in his ear sent odd shivers down his spine, like the sound of a lover's voice. "What is a woman doing in a man's position in both throne and the marriage bed?"


	3. Chapter Two

_**A/N: so ya'll liked that last chapter huh? I'm glad Gawain's got himself a fangirl from reading about him in Dark Queen. XD The Gawain is happy.**_

_**And if you really want to know what spurred this idea… it was a … THING that popped into my head while doing Silver Glass Hound. Well, it also popped into my head earlier as to what it would be like if Arturia were actually normal compared to the dark version with Cuchulainn…. So yeah.**_

_**Chapter Two**_

Arturia's eyes snapped open. It was as though this ghost, who ever he was, had managed to lift the cloak of magic that Merlin had placed upon her so that she might very well pass as a man. As Merlin had said, once she had taken the sword from the stone and made herself king, she was no longer just Arturia, but Arthur Pendragon, sole heir to the throne of Camelot and all of England. She was no longer human, as others would see human. The sword's magic had worked its way into her and made her some how different. She simply was King and that was all she could think in.

She let her eyes slip closed and let the veil of magic come back over her, the sword at her side humming softly inside its scabbard. She turned and looked to the man who stood behind her and gazed up at him in a rather cold fashion. "What makes you think I am a woman?"

"You're a woman, that much is obvious to me," said the spectre. He looked somewhat irritated that she seemed to be denying who she was.

"I am not a woman," she said, "I am King."

The man rolled his eyes and moved away, sitting down on a chair, though it seemed more as though he sort of hovered in it. He seemed oddly familiar, with his odd blue hair and even stranger eyes, which, to her, resembled devil eyes. "King or not, woman, you are most definitely female," he said.

"I am King and you are a ghost. Leave this place in the name our lord God. I will not accept a spirit such as you to interrupt my life here," she said.

The ghost stood up sharply and walked over to her, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he seemed to swagger his way over to her. His confidence was irritating! He leaned down to her and caused her to start, moving back slightly reflexively before she realized that he had stopped a foot from her face. She stared up at him with a small amount of defiance as he eyed her suspiciously. "You can't fool a ghost, woman," he said softly, his voice sending those same shivers up her spine. "I can see through you and your cover. You are most definitely a woman."

"I am a King," she said, now speaking rather tersely. "And if you keep this up, I will find my chapel's priest and have him deal with you."

He moved even closer, the air cool where he was, as if she could feel him breathing on her face. "Your God is nothing more than your God to me," he said softly, gazing through his lashes at her. It, for some strange reason, made her heart pound in her chest. She felt a chill on her chest, as if she was somehow exposed through her shirt and tunic, a very faint grip upon her breasts as though a hand, one not entirely in this realm, were running over her skin. She found herself unable to move, as though he had somehow rooted her to the spot with his gaze alone. "And thus.. your spouting your religious tripe to me will do nothing to me. However," he said softly, "I do like your God a great deal for giving me this ability to be here somehow."

Arturia's mind seemed to be wobbling. She was uncertain as to where this sudden, very sudden, power to manipulate her was sourcing from, but it was unnerving and very inconvenient. He moved the rest of the way down, but she moved away quickly, holding her arms in front of her chest as if to protect it from his evil hands. "I am no woman and you are not welcome, sir ghost," she said in a harsh tone.

He smirked and straightened up again, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Believe me when I say that you will not get away so quickly from me. Fine, I'll take your word for it now, little woman, but I will make you want me eventually." With that, he faded away as if he had never been there in the first place.

* * *

Father Peter stood with a handmade broom in hand and swept the steps of the chapel. It had not been a very eventful day, really; mostly, he shooed little children back to playing near the other adults or going back to their chores and blessed a batch a pie. Not much ran afoul in Camelot. He certainly did not expect the seemingly forever youthful king to come stomping up to him in something of a foul mood and request he come bless his chambers.

"Sorry?" asked Peter, his eyebrows rising up into his white hair. "What was that you asked of me, your highness?"

"I asked you if you would please come to my chambers and bless them. I have need of it right away." Indeed, King Arthur seemed very pressed to get this done and that unnerved Father Peter more.

"Why do you need a blessing when it should already be blessed," asked Peter.

The young king blinked at Peter in a very perplexed manner. He looked away in thought for a moment before he turned back and bowed his head to Father Peter. "Thank you, Father," he said.

"Son, why is it you are coming to ask me for this now?" Peter was now intrigued as to what could have occurred to cause the boy to be so uncomfortable.

"I found a ghost," said Arthur, frowning deeply, "A very persistent and irritating ghost. He says I won't be able to banish him simply by asking for the lord to help me banish him."

"Oh? How interesting. Perhaps he is meant to stay around then," said the priest, smiling faintly. "You never know, he might be useful. Lord knows that those who have come before us have more knowledge than we do ourselves. Perhaps he is meant to be here as a guide."

Arthur looked dubiously at the priest, unconvinced that this could be the reason that the blasted ghost could be around her in the first place. "He seems to think he knows me, and for the life of me, I would swear I do know him as well."

The priest offered Arthur a cup of tea as he went inside to put his broom away. Arthur followed the older man and sat down where the priest told him to. The priest then disappeared for a little while before coming back with a steaming teapot and a pair of cups. The priest poured the tea into the cups and put a couple cubes of sugar in each before offering a cup to Arthur. Arthur sipped the tea silently as he watched the priest for a few moments.

"Now, tell me, son," said the priest as he smiled faintly, "What is it about this ghost that troubles you so?"

"Besides the fact that he's there?"

"Yes, outside of that," said Father Peter, waving his hand at Arthur.

Arthur sipped his tea quite elegantly for a man, Peter decided. He could only name a rare few who were like this and Arthur was top on the list. After a moment, Arthur seemed to decide it was time to speak. "As I said, he seems to know me and I feel as though I have met him before as well. It is very unnerving."

"Where do you think you may have met him?"

"I don't know, that's part of the problem," said Arthur. Arthur sighed and rubbed his fair face. "He is odd looking, very unusual indeed. His hair is partway pulled back in a long ponytail in the back and the rest of his hair is shorter and sort of… spiky." Arthur was trying to come up with a good description of the man, but he failed to truly come up with anything decent. "And his eyes, his eyes were red and cat like. Could he be a devil?"

"Sounds like the old legends of Cuchulainn," said Father Peter, chuckling. "If you have that man as a spectre around here, I feel he might indeed be useful."

"Cuchulainn?" The name was very familiar indeed to Arthur. Where had he heard it before?

"He was a great Irish hero, though he was alive so long ago that our own history can't even recall how long ago it was. It was so very long before even the ancient ones who made the crumbling ruins that litter our world that it's hard to discern the general time period." Father Peter took a sip of his tea and downed it all in a few gulps before putting his cup down on the pew he sat upon. "He was best known for his use of the Gae Bolg, a terrible blood red spear that targeted the hearts of his opponents, for his great deeds as a hero and for the amount of women he seemed to be able to win hearts from." Father Peter chuckled and shook his head. "He was an early bloomer it seems. Ah, to be that young, it's been so long."

"You were not always a priest?" asked Arthur, his face somewhat pinker than before.

"No, dear boy, no," said Father Peter with a smile, "I was once a soldier, but I grew weary of blood shed and wars. I decided my fate should be led by God and in God's hands I would teach others of the same path and keep the faith of my flock, so I joined the church and studied until I was given a parish to administer to and then I came here because I had heard you had need of a priest. Your chapel is old, but it is very well built and for that I will do my best to keep it tidy and keep the faith for all under my care."

Arthur gazed at him for a moment before setting his cup down on the pew. "And what is your feeling for when one must go to battle or indeed war against another?"

"Depends, but…" Peter stopped and scratched his cheek for a moment before smiling faintly to Arthur. "A shepherd must tend his flock and, at times, fight off the wolves. A priest told me that once before he went into a fight head first with a sword in one hand and a prayer on his lips. I have never forgotten it." Arthur's heart thumped oddly in his chest as the old priest smiled very faintly and looked away. "I have never forgotten that phrase and I believe in it wholly. One must do what he can to keep from entering a fight, but sometimes one can not avoid this inevitable disaster and must face it with bright courage and a hope that what you are doing is not against God's will."

Arthur gazed at the older priest and smiled very faintly toward him, bowing his head to him. "Thank you, Father. I believe you were very helpful to me." He stood and bowed down to Father Peter before walking out.

Peter watched Arthur leave and smiled faintly. He took out a stick and waved it, the two cups disappearing with the teapot. Indeed, he had once been a soldier, but not for any normal army. He was a wizard, but could not ever tell this to the superstitious peoples he ministered to, for they might not trust him if he did. They trusted Merlin, because he had shown himself to be very powerful a wizard, so powerful that he might very well squash everyone should he be angered, but that he didn't gave them faith in his ability to be a genuinely decent human being. They had not trusted him when he had come to Camelot before, since he was a wizard of dubious faith, but they warmed to him quickly when he rolled up his sleeves and helped to build a wall of the castle beside them.

Indeed, if word spread that he was a wizard, they might not trust him simply because he was their leader in their faith. As such, he was supposed to be faithful to God and not a conjurer of tricks like the faithless witches and wizards. Well, he at least knew that was not entirely true and was glad of it.

* * *

Arturia sat in her study and fingered through papers. It was burgeoning on absolute frustration at the amount she was getting every day. As good as things were in Camelot, elsewhere in the country, things were not as pleasant. There were raiders burning down towns, there were shortages that the nobles complained about and then the border skirmishes between the nobles themselves. Were they still fighting amongst each other after all these years of him being their king?

Arturia sighed and rubbed her face as she leaned back into her chair. There was a small knock on the door before it opened and Gwenivere poked her head in. "My lord, are you well?"

Arturia looked to Gwenivere and nodded before sitting back up. "Yes, I am relatively well, Gwenivere. My head hurts as though someone was gripping it with a smithy's vice, but I am well."

Gwenivere smiled faintly and walked in fully before putting a hand on Arturia's shoulder, rubbing her muscles there. "You should come to bed and sleep."

Arturia nodded, sighing softly. "You are right, Gwenivere," she said softly. "Sleep would indeed improve my feelings."

Gwenivere smiled warmly and took Arturia's hand before letting go and heading for the bedchamber. There, they both undressed and put on night gowns before slipping underneath the covers to sleep. Arturia lay on her back and gazed up at the ceiling as Gwenivere gazed at her as she laid on her side. "Why do you push yourself, Arthur? Why?"

Arturia gazed at the four poster top covering of deep red velvet and frowned faintly. "It is who I am, Gwenivere. It is who I am supposed to be."

Gwenivere sighed and stroked Arturia's cheek, worry etched into her lovely face. On some level, Arturia felt a deep love for her queen, for she was genuinely sweet and gentle. On another level, she knew Gwenivere gave up a great deal for the role that had been given to her. She had become her queen and thus her wife when she could not possibly fulfill her husbandly duties for her.

Gwenivere lifted herself and leaned down, kissing Arturia on her cheek before she rolled over. "You are a good king, Arthur. You are the best king I have ever seen. Please remember that."

Arturia closed her eyes and smiled faintly. Yes, that was who she was now and she did a good job with her role in life. With that, she slowly drifted off to sleep.

* * *

The smell of fresh grass filtered into her senses. Bright sun took her by surprise and the sound of a child's laughter could be heard nearby. She opened her eyes and looked around her. All she could see was brilliant emerald green. It was as though she were dead and in paradise. She heard the laughter once more and looked to its source.

Nothing was there. No child could be seen at all. Soon the laughter disappeared and the air cooled, the sun disappearing. There was the sound of a dog howling and then the mighty yelp of a wounded dog. Nothing was around. The sun appeared again and she looked off to see a boy running through the tall grass. She could not catch a good glimpse of him, but she could have sworn he had blue hair….

When the dreams were over, she woke and sat up. Gwenivere had woken up earlier than she usually did, and Arturia was alone now. She then got dressed and went about her day as usual. Perhaps she had known Cuchulainn in a previous life?


	4. Chapter Three

_**A/N: now that I've stopped picking on my friend Alexiel enough to do this, let's get another chapter out to make her happy. XD**_

_**Chapter Three**_

Arturia sat up straight in her bed. Her body was covered in sweat and the nightgown she wore stuck to parts of her body uncomfortably. Gwenivere slept soundly next to her, looking as though she could never have a foul dream in all her life. Arturia however had a true nightmare. She dreamt of very strange creatures coming at her from all sides and forcing her into a corner. Then, she felt cold and felt as though she were going to die.

Arturia shuddered and got up from her bed, walking out of the chamber to do something, anything, to clear her mind of the horrific feelings and images in her head. She stoked the burning coals and put her hands toward them to get what warmth they still had in them in the small fireplace in the main sitting area of the King and Queen's chambers she shared with Gwenivere.

She heard soft humming near her and looked around. She found no one. She frowned and rubbed her face. Perhaps she had been working too hard. She moved back toward the burning coals and a strange sensation came over her. If she were pressed to describe it, it was as though something had passed a part of themselves through her in a very oddly pleasing fashion. It was as though a soul had physically touched her own soul through her skin. It caused her to arch her back somewhat and gasp slightly in both surprise and the strange pleasantness of it.

She once more looked around and found no one around. However, before she could turn all the way back to the fireplace, once more the strange but pleasant feeling came over her. It started from her stomach and moved up over her chest and back down over her stomach to her hips and what lay between her legs before she heard a very male voice whispering into her ear. "You moan like a woman and feel like a woman and have a woman's womb," he said.

Through the haze of the moment, it dawned on Arturia who it was and, of course, it didn't surprise her one moment that it was him. However, as he was no longer living, trying to hit him would have done nothing more than amuse him. She straightened up and sat stiffly while looking toward the fireplace. "Why do you come to me like this? You molest me in strange ways and then call me a woman. I have already told you that I am a King."

"A king by trade, but a woman by nature," he said, a truly devilish tone in his voice. Arturia grunted at this statement and looked away from the fireplace, her cheeks turning pink. The ghost chuckled softly and she felt the sensations pass through her body in the same fashion once more; over her stomach, over her breasts, and back down until it lingered between her legs.

She stood up on wobbly legs and stumbled away to her soft chair, flopping down into it quickly as she looked to the fireplace. What was this ghost thinking?! He called her a woman and took advantage of his ability to touch places in her being that she had no idea even COULD be touched and he did this freely with little care for what she felt!

"Stop it!" she said loudly, now very shaken by what had occurred.

Again, there was a chuckle and this time the blue haired ghost appeared again, his hands on his hips and his smile a devilishly handsome one that could charm even the most pure angel. It made her heart do strange things in her chest to see that smile and that made her even more uncomfortable. He walked toward her and leaned down toward her, his hands on the arms of the chair as she curled away from him, hugging her knees to her chest.

"You look at me as though I'm the devil himself," said the ghost, smirking slightly at her. Indeed, with those eyes of his, he could be described as a devil! "You have made that face before and cringed away from me once before as well."

She blinked at him, now curious how she knew this man, or, to be more accurate, how this man knew her. "Who are you and how do I know you?" she asked her voice soft and somewhat afraid of what he would say.

He smirked more and let those eyes of his drift over her. "Cuchulainn, the greatest of Ireland's heroes," he said, "And you know me because you were the one who came to me."

She blinked once more, big blue-green eyes most definitely filled with confusion rather than what he had expected. Did she truly not remember being a child so much that everything she was now was linked to that sword and scabbard of hers?

He eyed her carefully and leaned forward more. This time she did not cringe away from him like she had before. This time, he saw the defiance of a proud king rather than the confusion of a scared woman. "What is it you keep coming to me and molesting me for? Have you nothing better to do than to come and pester me?"

"Truth? No," said Cuchulainn, smirking at her, red eyes twinkling with mischief.

"I suppose Heaven won't have you and you're a hero so you can't go to hell," said Arturia as she glared at him coldly.

"Actually, it is more like Heaven bored the fuck out of me and Emer doesn't like me being bored. I suppose she pleaded with God or whoever he is to let me come back in some form or another and let me be me again on Earth. I suppose it might have been a while, but it didn't feel that long."

He was bored? So why would he come to her? And what could a ghost do on Earth that could possibly entertain them besides making a royal mess out of a person's mind? And who was this Emer? Was she his wife?

As if he could read her mind, his voice, soft and warm like the breath that now seemed to flow over her face and the hot look in his eyes that was firmly trained on her, forced her attention to him. "Emer is my wife," he said softly, his gaze softening slightly as he smiled. No, to describe it as a mere smile when he had been grinning or smirking at her the entire time did not do his smile any justice. It was the smile of a purely happy man, but colored with a faint tint of sadness at the edges. It was a smile that forced feelings out of Arturia's heart that made her feel strange. "She is my wife, at least in heaven. When she was alive and I had died, she had spent the rest of her days on this world wishing I could be with her. I did not know, for the place I was in was a very pleasant and peaceful place, but it muddled my thoughts so I forgot what it was like to be alive."

Arturia's chest felt strange and this was beginning to bother her more. "Cuchulainn," she said softly, "Why is it you come to pester and molest me?"

"Because of those eyes," he said, smirking faintly at her. She blinked at him in surprise. He chuckled and reached a hand up, attempting to stroke her cheek, though she only barely felt it. "You once looked at me as a wondrous thing and I found myself curious as to where you ended up after I left you. Those eyes of yours have been invading my mind for some time now."

"You're dead; you don't have a mind to be haunted by." Arturia got up and her entire body locked up both from chill and that same strange pleasant feeling he had caused inside her. She dropped back into the chair and panted as she shivered.

He eyed her and moved away. "Ever since I found you not that long ago, I've noticed that I can't affect things the same way I had when I initially came back. Before, you could touch me without a problem. Now, it seems, you can go through me."

She glared at him and threw a pillow through his chest before she pulled a blanket over her to warm up under. Her teeth chattered as she attempted to keep from losing all her senses to the severe cold shock that had gone through her body. "Just leave!" she shouted angrily at him.

He moved back down to her and put his face inches from hers. "Be careful, little king," he said, smirking faintly, "or you will wake your queen."

She made to say something, but the feeling of his hands touching her took her breath away once more, his mouth descending to hers and a strange feeling of his tongue inside her mouth took her by surprise. She made a strange noise in her throat as she tried to move, but found herself somehow paralyzed as his kiss seemed to take over her. After a moment, she was moaning from it, though she could just barely feel him there. How was it that he could hold her to her spot and make her moan from pleasure of a kiss that she could only barely feel?

He ran his tongue over her lips before gazing at her carefully, his breath deep and even. He was accustomed to such activities that much seemed certain! "Never been kissed before, have you?" he said, smirking deviously once more.

Once more, she attempted to throw something at him and watched as her hand moved through him. "I barely felt anything, now would you please leave me be!"

"Arthur?"

Arturia and Cuchulainn both turned to the bedchamber door to see a very sleepy eyed Gwenivere looking in as she yawned. "Arthur, why are you up and talking to yourself?"

"I'm not talking to myself, there's a ghost right in front of me!" Arturia felt as though Gwenivere was accusing her of being insane, as though there was nothing to feel so accosted and harassed by.

Gwenivere yawned again and shook her head. "No, I see no one there."

Indeed, when Arturia looked to where Cuchulainn had been, she saw no one. Only chilly air occupied the area in front of the chair where a very irritating moment ago she had moaned helplessly from a kiss she could barely feel. What was wrong with her?!

She stood up with the blanket around her and stalked off into the bedchamber. "I'm going back to bed, Gwenivere. I am sorry I have wakened you so early in the morning. Please feel free to go back to bed as well."

Gwenivere watched as Arturia walked past her and curled up into the bed. Arturia looked very angry and Gwenivere was curious why. "You said a ghost was there. What did it look like?"

"A very irritating man with blue hair and a handsome face," said Arturia through her pillow. Gwenivere was now intrigued. She walked over to the bed and slipped underneath the covers, watching Arturia seem to burrow a tunnel underneath all the comforters and sheets.

"What did this man do?" Gwenivere asked as she watched the lump that represented her "husband" to her moved a bit toward her direction under the covers.

"He kissed me." As soon as she said it, Arturia wanted to take it back, for she had acknowledged what had been bothering her. She had LIKED it. That she had liked it meant that she was acknowledging the feminine part of her and that was dangerous.

* * *

Gwenivere walked along the corridors to the circular council chamber. It had been a long while since she had been there before, however it was burned into her senses as to where it lay inside the massive borders of the castle. As she approached it, she heard Agravaine and Gaheris talking to each other. They were Gawain's older brothers and as such were related to the only woman she could ever distrust. It wasn't solely on principle; it was also because of how nasty the woman had been toward her own sister. Arturia had been the favored child and had taken the throne, which she knew, KNEW, that Morgan wanted so desperately she could taste it. The thought of Morgan coming and taking Camelot away from Arturia alone made Gwenivere shiver. If that should happen, the older sister would be in control of not only Camelot, but a grand portion of England as well.

When the cold chill of dread finished rolling down her spine, Gwenivere slipped closer to the door of the council chamber, curious to see what the brothers spoke of. However, when she leaned closer to the doors, it sounded as though the brothers had left. Gwenivere frowned faintly and moved away from the doors. She looked around the corridor to see if anyone was there and then slowly opened the door and crept into the chamber.

The chamber was dark and it seemed as though no one had been in there. The windows were covered, keeping the light out; the candles extinguished long ago. Who had been in here then? As she moved about the chamber, she stopped at the seat labeled "Lancelot du Lac". She gazed upon it as a pleasant feeling moved through her body. She blushed faintly and placed her fingers upon the label, stroking it with a small smile. She had only seen the knight but upon occasion, however he always struck her with his smile and his grace. Gawain amused her and Galahad always blushed when she came near. The attention was nice, for she so missed having the attention of men since being tied to Arturia. However, that was her sacrifice. She had known it from the start when Merlin took her aside and told her what was what. Arturia was a woman, forever stunted at the age of sixteen or seventeen when she took Avalon as her own. She had to pretend to be a man; it was a man that the people wanted to lead them, not a woman. A woman had no place to rule except in the old fairytales and folktales. If the people were to find out that their precious king had deceived them for the sake of leading them as they had expected, they would be outraged and Arturia would be humiliated. Such a terrible outcome could never come, so Gwenivere kept Arturia's secret for her and took care to be certain to never call her by her real name; you never knew who might be listening to a person speak through the walls of a room.

"Why is my queen inside the council chambers when her king is not in here?"

Gwenivere turned around quickly, cheeks flushed and back to the table. There, standing tall was Lancelot. His gaze upon her was intense, his face finely sculpted as though the fairies themselves had birthed him from their magic. Gwenivere fumbled with the chair behind her and moved away from the table. "I am doing nothing," she said as she tried to not look directly at him, "I am simply…. Looking for my husband."

He smirked faintly at her and pushed a lock of his long black hair behind his ear. She watched out of the corner of her eye and felt her heart flutter in her chest like a bird in a cage. "If you were simply looking for your husband, mademoiselle, you would not stand and stroke a table so affectionately with such flushed cheeks."

Gwenivere's cheeks flared up once more and she opened and closed her mouth like a fish needing air, trying to think up something witty to come back with, but she had no words to counter with. He chuckled at her scrambling around for something to throw back at him and moved a little closer to her. "My queen needs to not be so worried about a table or her husband when he can very well take care of himself and that table needs little more attention than what we give it."

Gwenivere regained her composure and turned away from Lancelot. "The table is fine and I like the look of it. It reminds me of the old stories of it being used before long ago before the ancient ones ruled the land," she said haughtily, trying to seem disinterested in the fact that he was moving closer to her.

Lancelot smiled faintly and bowed down to her. She blinked and looked to him as he kissed her hand. "My queen, please go and return to your duties. I meant what I said. You have no need to worry for your husband."

Gwenivere flushed a bit more and felt a strange burning sensation where his lips met her skin. When he stood, he did not let go of her hand. After a moment, she tugged her hand from his grasp and moved away from the table, backing toward the door. She felt giddy, like a little girl that was given her favorite sweets. "And you do not need to be so gallant all the time, good sir knight. I am the queen and I too can take care of myself as well as my husband," she said, a silly grin on her face.

It was Lancelot's turn to blush faintly and look perplexed at his queen. Indeed, she was beautiful and generous with both her time and her attention. He suddenly felt jealous of the table for it had been stroked by those gentle fingers of hers! "Do be careful you do not speak so freely around the other knights. They might think worse of you for being so defiant," he said, smiling.

She smiled faintly and gracefully bowed her head toward him. "And you… I leave my husband in your care exclusively with some help from Galahad and Gawain. I know you three especially will keep a good watch on Arthur." Then, she walked out of the chambers, still feeling as though she were floating on air. What was it about that man that caused her heart to flutter so?

Indeed, Lancelot was as much affected as she was. He put a hand to his chest and felt his heart beat against his hand. However, his face was soured by a frown. He was not joyous as the queen he was so affected by, but tormented. His king's wife was the cause of this feeling and all he could hope for was that it would disappear with time. He was not willing to jeopardize his friendship, nay his kinship, with his king, a man he would willingly die for to protect. His dream was to unite all of England under one flag, one king, once more as it was in the time of the ancients and he would kill any who would cause his precious king any true danger.

After a while, he felt himself return back to normal and looked round to see if anyone noticed him there, aching from a strange brief contact with a woman that caused the pleasant but treacherous love spring forth in him. It was like a cruel play being written by the gods and they were the players, forced to endure the punishments until the tragedy was ended. Well, he was not going to allow such a thing to be accomplished. He would swallow his pride, he would keep his tongue in his head and his emotions under tight control until the day he died, but he would never touch the woman that he had begun to admire.


	5. Chapter Four

_**A/N: okay! So here's a new chapter. I've got a bunch of pictures, but I don't feel like playing with them right now. Mmmmm tea……**_

_**Chapter Four**_

Father Peter walked up the steps to the upper floors of the castle, heading toward Arthur's chambers as Arthur had asked him to do. The young man had come to him again and asked for him to at least bless the room to make certain it wasn't an evil spirit pretending to be a hero, such as an incubus. Peter found it odd he would say it was like an incubus, since, theoretically, incubi only attacked woman.

With his wand hidden inside his cloak, a bible in hand and a rosary in the other, Father Peter made his way to the king and queen's chambers. He knocked on the door to announce his visit. When he heard no one inside, he opened the door and walked in carefully, listening and feeling for anything unusual. When he didn't feel as though something evil were inside the room, he closed the room and locked it, pulling his wand out. He waved at the fireplace and said, "Incendio," before shedding his cloak and placing it on the nearest chair. A nice fire started in the fireplace and brightened the room up nicely and warmed him up a little more.

"Ah, a mage is here pretending to be a priest?"

Peter looked around and stood straight, hoping to show he was not afraid should the spirit be indeed not of good intentions. "Please do show yourself, if you are a good spirit," he said in a gentle tone, wand ready for anything. Out of the dim part of the room, a figure materialized. He was not silvery like the other ghosts he had once encountered while in school, but rather normal looking, if you could call a tall, thin, well built man of possibly twenty-five or slightly older normal when he was sporting a blue mullet, bright red cat like eyes and a broad smirk upon an unearthly handsome face. Indeed, his appearance was only vaguely see-through, which would cause any person to start upon laying their gaze on him. If they didn't notice he wasn't entirely present, they might have tried to touch him and found themselves freezing cold as they went through him.

The younger man smirked a bit more and leaned on the wall behind him, looking Father Peter over. "So, a priest or a witch? Which is it?" he said.

"Wizard, I believe, is the term you are seeking and yes, I am a wizard, though now I am a priest. I chose this path long ago when I felt spreading the good word of God and helping others with their faith was more important than leading a regiment of knights at my old school." Peter put his wand away and picked up his bible and rosary once more, walking over to the younger man. "And you are a very strange fellow. What is your name?"

"Cuchulainn," said the younger man, grinning at Father Peter with a broad, bright smile. "The greatest of all Irish heroes."

"Indeed, I've read much on you. One of my teachers felt learning of history, of all history, would be more beneficial than trying to figure out what would happen in the future." Father Peter smiled faintly and opened the book, forming a cross in the air in front of Cuchulainn. He said a prayer softly and formed the cross in the air again before looking to Cuchulainn once more. "Well, it doesn't seem to have affected you, so I assume you are indeed who you claim to be."

Cuchulainn laughed and slapped his leg; Father Peter looked on with a small smile as he watched the Irish ghost chuckle. "You are an interesting priest, I must say that! I would've expected a priest to take one look at me and call me a demon for the look of me."

Father Peter shook his head and folded his hands in front of him over his bible. "No, I am not like my more ignorant brethren. Unfortunately, they would label me a heretic and a blasphemer for being a wizard. They could never understand that I am what I am because that is what God wanted me to be born as. God gave me my gifts of magic and so I use them as He intended me to."

Cuchulainn gazed at Father Peter for a moment and nodded before straightening up all the way and crossing his arms over his chest. He wore a simple, but well made shirt of off white cloth, the ties loose as one would expect of an old rogue such as he. His kilt was of fine dark blue wool and was wrapped around him in a very particular manner, a belt holding half the kilt around his hips and the other portion was pulled up around his shoulders like one would a cloak, pinned with a silver knot pin of a dog. His boots were a bit worn looking, but they were well made in appearance. He looked as though he had stepped out of a fairytale or a storybook.

Peter eyed Cuchulainn and reached his hand out to the younger man's shoulder, watching as his hand passed through him. He had felt a very slight resistance to his hand, but it went through no less. "You're not an ordinary ghost," he said in astonishment.

"Of course not! I'm Cuchulainn!" said Cuchulainn as he threw his hands up in some small amount of irritation at someone having such a revelation. "Why would anyone think I was normal or ordinary?!"

Peter waved his hand at Cuchulainn, attempting to make the younger man lower his voice. "Calm down, now, you don't need to shout. I am simply noting that you aren't normal compared to other ghosts. Most ghosts are silvery and cold and don't have the same feel as you, though you are rather cold to pass through." He eyed him once more as he carefully walked around the spirit. "Indeed, you look almost as if you're supposed to be in this plane, but never got here fully… like a piece of a soul and not the entire thing."

Cuchulainn watched the priest for a few moments before he sat down on a chair. "Possibly, but doubtful. I feel much like I have for the past several years; not all here and bored," he said, "Although, I have had a great deal of amusement lately."

"So I hear," muttered Father Peter. He sat down as well and watched Cuchulainn for a moment more. "Why is it you plague my king so? He's come to me twice already asking me to cleanse the room or bless it to force you out, but blessing or cleansing a room only forces out bad things with bad intentions. You don't have bad intentions nor are you a bad spirit. So, why are you causing him such grief?"

"Grief you say? Hah! I wouldn't say I was causing 'him' grief," said the younger man, putting a very odd emphasis on "him".

Father Peter eyed the ghost carefully. "When you said 'him', you sounded as though you didn't trust that term. Why?"

"Mmmm, if I told you why, then that would make our dear king very angry indeed," said Cuchulainn, smirking faintly, "And I don't want him angry with me, simply because he's much more enjoyable when he's not irritated already."

Father Peter eyed him once more, frowning deeply. "You aren't known for picking on young men."

Cuchulainn's cheeks flushed pink before he took a swing at Father Peter. Peter leaned back sharply and stared at Cuchulainn in surprise. That had yielded a far better response than he could have imagined!

"I don't fancy men or boys nor will I ever! Don't you dare suggest such a thing!" Cuchulainn snarled at the priest before sitting down when he found that the priest was genuinely shocked at his response. "Don't give me such a look, old man."

"Apologies," said Father Peter as he attempted to loosen up once more, "I was merely making an observation as to your behavior toward our king." He patted his coat down and leaned back into the chair once more, a thought striking him. When he looked to Cuchulainn, there was a deep frown on the younger man's face, one of great distrust and looking as though he might indeed try to kill him to shut him up.

"Say what you have on your mind," he said, his tone soft and cool, dangerous sounding enough to make Father Peter's blood chill.

Peter looked Cuchulainn right in the eye, his old soldiering soul coming to the surface. "You aren't known for picking on boys or men," he said carefully, "Therefore, the reason for your picking on Arthur is that he is a lady." His voice softened toward the end of his sentence as he waved his wand around the room. When he finished, he looked to Cuchulainn and pointed his wand at him.

"What, you're going to shoot a spell through me?" said Cuchulainn, looking irritated now.

"You," said Peter softly, "You have come in because she is a woman. That is why you have interest in her, but why her specifically? You could be picking upon Lady Gwenivere instead."

Cuchulainn watched Peter carefully for a moment before leaning back in the chair, eyes narrowed at him. "That is because I met her before when she was a child. The rest is my own business, not yours."

"It's mine because she could be ousted as a woman because of you and your attentions," hissed Peter. "Don't you have any shame? Don't you care? You could be jeopardizing her safety with your constant harassment. Someone might question why a male ghost should be so inclined as to try to be close to a king."

Cuchulainn, for the first time, looked away. Something wrenched in his chest, his heart paining him, though he had none to pain him anymore. He was merely a spirit; a spirit that had no body to hold it and no place to keep it. When the priest put the whole problem in that fashion, there really was no way he could defy the logic of it. As much as the woman entertained him and intrigued him, perhaps it really was a good idea to not be so adamant in his pursuit of her.

"Very well," said Cuchulainn softly. He turned his gaze back to Peter, his gaze hot and angry as he reluctantly spoke to the old man. "I will leave your king alone for a while."

"And you will not harass her?"

"Aye, I won't harass her. I will simply stay and watch her as I have been doing." When Peter took his wand off of Cuchulainn and put it away, Cuchulainn stood up and walked to the wall.

"Thank you, Lord Cuchulainn," said the old priest softly. "You are doing a good thing by this. I think as much as you like to tease and flirt with ladies, perhaps this one is the only one you could safely say is off limits."

Cuchulainn frowned more deeply, though he kept his back to the priest. Something inside him told him that he needed to be around Arturia as much as possible. Something bad was going to happen to her in the future, though he knew not when or how soon that future would be coming. The woman intrigued him with her constant need to be seen as a man and it was a blatant challenge to him to make her act like a woman in any way possible. To be told he should stay away from her made him angry, but he would do as the priest asked simply because the priest was right. If someone there found out she was a woman, all hell would break loose. Therefore, as Cuchulainn walked through the wall slowly, he would do his best not to disturb her further.

For now…

* * *

Arturia looked around the chambers carefully. She felt no presence, she saw nothing out of the ordinary; it was as though nothing had been there to begin with. "Are you certain you managed to drive him out?"

"I wouldn't say I drove him out, but I convinced him to stop treating you like he would a woman," said Father Peter, smiling faintly at her. She flushed faintly and for the first time, he saw something different than the male visage. The image of her changed slightly. The tunic and trousers she wore turned into a long blue dress with gold trimmings, her white shift showed out from underneath it with a fair frill around her wrists and at the hem, again, trimmed with gold. How could the woman ever hope to fool others when she wore such a thing?!

Arturia eyed him from the corner of her vision. "Is there something the matter, Father Peter? You look as though you've seen something bizarre."

"Ah… it must be my vision. In my old age I think it's getting worse, I'm afraid," he said, smiling faintly, "For a moment I could have sworn that blue tunic you are wearing was a dress."

Arturia's face grew hot as she coughed and attempted to keep what composure she had left to her. "I suppose your eyesight is going. Perhaps there is something the town doctor could do for you."

"Yes, I'll see him tomorrow. Well, if that is all…"

"Yes, that is all, Father Peter. Thank you."

Father Peter smiled faintly and turned away, walking down the corridor to the staircase. When he disappeared out of sight, Arturia walked into her chambers and locked the door behind her before gripping her chest and gasping for breath as she leaned against the door. "He saw… He saw through the magic! How did he see through it?!" She ran over to the fireplace and stoked the fire with a poker before throwing the bit of soot like powder he had given her to talk to him through the fireplace with. "MERLIN!"

The flames erupted into a brilliant green before a head appeared in them, Merlin's head. "Arturia, what is wrong?"

Arturia regained what composure she could and took a deep breath to calm herself. "It seems, Master Merlin, that your spell on me is lifting… at least to Father Peter."

"Well, that is possible. However, Father Peter is a wizard, so he might be able to do it if he knows that you're a woman already," said Merlin, frowning faintly.

Arturia stiffened and turned white, staring at Merlin. "Pardon?"

Merlin looked to her and raised his eyebrows. "Didn't you know? I thought you had already known and that was why you let him stay. Most wouldn't, but you know better than to believe that a wizard only worships Satan or some foolish thing like that."

Arturia breathed deeply and shook her head before she sat down. "No, I did not. I allowed him to minister to the people because he had come and he seemed decent. I'm not about to turn out an old priest for any reason, let alone a lonely old man."

Merlin smiled faintly and nodded. "Well, I saw him in one of the awards at my old school when I was growing up. He's one of the knights of Hogwarts."

Arturia's gaze snapped to Merlin, frowning deeply. "What is Hogwarts? Is that your school?"

Merlin's head moved from the fire and he stepped out fully, brushing soot off him and couching. "Oh, how I hate doing that. Traveling through those old networks is so dirty." After a moment, he looked to Arturia and nodded to her before sitting down where she could clearly see him. "As I said, it was my school. It's the school for wizards and witches all over England, Wales, Scotland and Ireland."

"Why does it have need of knights? Who would want to attack a school full of witches and wizards?" asked Arturia.

"In the past, the school has been subjected to raiders and various bad wizards and those who wanted the teachers and headmaster dead. One of the daughters of the teachers formed the knights when she realized that the school needed far better protection than the wizards and witches could give on their own. So, she formed the Knights of Hogwarts and it is a program that enlists the aid of the senior students and those who don't wish to leave the school after they finish their education," said Merlin. He smiled faintly at her as he spoke, though she continued to look like she had just swallowed a very big and disgusting frog and wasn't quite sure if she should spit it out or take a drink to wash it down.

After a while, Arturia loosened up in her chair and rubbed her temple. "I apologize, Master Merlin. I have grown too accustomed to the mindset of my people. They don't trust witches and wizards and here I converse with one daily and have since I was a child."

"Quite understandable; we have been persecuted for so long that we usually just keep everything to ourselves. You simply had the opportunity to be with one for a very long time." He smiled a bit more and stood. "Peter is a good soldier as I recall. He fought several times while I was going to school, but he was older than any of them by the time I had come. Well… older than most. The teachers and the children of those teachers have a tendency to get into some strange mischief that causes them to constantly age backwards. It's very messy and everyone usually gets to witness at least once one of the teachers as a little child or a teacher at some point in their time at the school."

Arturia smiled faintly and nodded to Merlin. "That is all, Merlin. Thank you for explaining to me."

"Do be careful, Arturia," said Merlin softly, "I would not wish to see you hurt or humiliated should things be known."

Arturia bowed her head toward Merlin before he nodded and left back through the fireplace with the same green flames erupting in it. When he left, Arturia watched the fire return to normal before she went to her study to continue the work she had begun that morning before she decided to ask Peter to try blessing her chambers once more. At least Cuchulainn would not bother her for a while.


	6. Chapter Five

_**A/N: I just watched the most beautiful movie I've seen in a long time. Lady in the Water is so… there aren't enough words that come to mind that are as beautiful as this movie is, that could accurate describe just how wonderful it is. While it's really funny in some areas, the music, the plot, the… everything… is absolutely gorgeous. I'm still reeling from it and I watched it two hours ago. Anyway…**_

_**My friend Amanda is coming to see me and stay at my new home for the first time and I'm excited:3 Also, my Tamagotchi, Lance, knocked up a girl tama and now he's got a kid. Supposedly, he's supposed to book it with his little girlfriend and leave me with the kid, but he's yet to disappear. I think he's onto my plan to completely bash him behind his back to his kid. XD**_

_**Chapter Five**_

As Arturia had hoped would happen, nothing out of the ordinary happened after Peter had dealt with her spirit problem. She no longer woke up to the feeling of Cuchulainn being around, or indeed, his odd soul touching that so shook her from the inside out that she wasn't sure how to even describe how it felt. It was both frightening and pleasurable as well as freezing cold when he did it. Only that one time did he ever seem to be truly real, when his breath had been as warm as anyone else's.

She had gone back to wearing her tunic as Merlin had suggested to her so that if indeed someone accidentally lifted the veil of magic she wore, they would still only see a slightly more feminine version of herself wearing a tunic and not a dress that would out and out give away what she was. She sighed as she touched the blue and gold tunic that had been made for her by Gwenivere and the other ladies. Gwenivere always took care of her, always stayed around her to make sure she was all right and to be there if she should need to talk to someone. Arturia really did care for Gwenivere very much and sometimes wished she could do just as many things for her that Gwenivere did for Arturia.

"Penny for your thoughts!"

Arturia snapped her gaze over to Gawain and smiled faintly toward him. "Hello, Gawain," she said. Gawain grinned at her before leaning against the wall that was holding the window she was looking through. His bright green eyes surveyed her and he seemed to grin more at her for it. "What is it you wish to say to me?"

Gawain shrugged and bit into the apple he had in his hand. "I saw you sort of staring into space, cousin, and so I thought I might offer up my services as a willing ear to listen to your troubles!"

Arturia eyed him for a moment and looked out the window once more, leaning on the windowsill. "I don't know if I could rightly tell you, my nephew," she said softly as she looked at the people walking around. "How long have I been king over this land, Gawain? Can you remember?"

"Not really, no. It's been several years since I first heard of you taking the sword." He grinned a moment before he bit into the apple again and munched loudly. "Speaking of which, you haven't grown a day older since the first time I saw you."

Arturia gazed on at the people. "Yes… it is the price of wielding Excalibur and her scabbard. I knew this the moment I took the blade as my own that I would no longer be a normal human as you, or really, anyone around here."

Gawain eyed her a moment more and leaned over her. "Cousin, please know that it is not a crime to be the way you are. You rule the way a good king should and I heartily welcome any of your youth on the field or in the castle."

Arturia looked to Gawain and smiled faintly, nodding to him. "I understand, Gawain. Thank you." She started to move and she found he had not budged one bit. She blinked up at him perplexed. "Gawain? Is something the matter?"

Gawain gazed at Arturia in a very strange fashion, one she was unaccustomed to and that made her very uncomfortable. He smiled faintly after a long moment and kissed her forehead. She stared up at him in shock as he moved away. Did he just kiss her like she was a child?!

Gawain laughed as she stared at him as if he had grown another head. "Don't worry yourself sick over silly nonsense and stupid people," he said, laughing, "Remember, you aren't alone in this castle nor are you on the throne! Oh! And speaking of which…."

Arturia wasn't certain she wanted anything else from Gawain if he was going to treat her idle thoughts like an older brother did his baby sibling! "Gawain, I think you've done plenty—what was the meaning of kissing me on the forehead like a child?!"

Gawain grinned and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Then, UNCLE," he said, playfully emphasizing the word "uncle", "why is it you haven't at least given Gwenivere a child in the time you two have been together for the past year?"

Arturia's cheeks turned bright pink before she straightened up carefully and rightly glared at him. "That is none of your business and you know it, Gawain. Now, pardon me, but I am due to deal with the some of the nobles." With that, she spun around on her heel toward the opposite direction and stalked off.

Gawain watched her walk away from him, his brilliant green eyes focusing on her and almost glowing as he watched her. To anyone else, it was a young man leaving, but to him, he saw a net, like glowing spider silk strands, covering every part of Arturia's body. He had seen this the very moment she had come to see his mother and his brothers. It wasn't something he spoke about, what sort of things he saw, but he knew what it was. It was magic he saw. "Nay, 'uncle'," he muttered softly to himself as he watched her leave, "it is all our business that Merlin is keeping a shroud of magic over you. Could that little sway in your hips be an indication I am right?"

As he left, he stopped when he thought he saw someone standing against the wall, arms crossed and glaring at him somewhat. He turned to see who it was and found no one there. However, there was a small trace of what looked like an even finer net of magic still against the wall. It wasn't the same as what was normal for his mother or Merlin; it looked like the sort that would come from something far more powerful. It reeked of a soul, or a part of a soul. Had it been a ghost then? Gawain couldn't be certain and he did not want to pursue the matter further until later. For now, he was hungry and thought raiding the kitchen again would entertain him some more.

* * *

Father Peter swept the steps of the church carefully with his broom. In some ways, he wished he could be back at his old school, training troops and regaling first year students with his old battle stories. However, this was his calling now. He felt the need to continue preaching the good faith to others would at least in part keep them thinking more about how they deal with others instead of being afraid of what they didn't understand or retaliating when they should walk away.

"Oh, hello," said Sister Francis from behind him. He could hear her talking, but could not tell who she was talking to. Sister Francis was the only woman that lived inside the church with him. She was much younger than him and quite pretty, but she, like he, had taken vows and was a nun. Sometimes this life could be quite cruel, but that was only the best of the true tests of one's ability to keep cool in different situations.

"Sister Francis? Is that you?" he asked over his shoulder, not really turning around to look for her.

"Ah!"

Father Peter stopped his sweeping and looked around for Francis. He frowned when he did not see her and walked into the church carefully. "Sister Francis?"

"Oh! Now stop that! Ah!"

They weren't the sort of sounds one would expect to come from someone screaming for help. In fact, they sounded almost obscene, with small gasps of surprise. His left eye twitched as a vein throbbed in his head. He had a very nasty feeling as to what was happening and he did not like it one bit. He followed the protestations of Sister Francis toward the back of the church where no one would see anything. A perfect spot to have a mid-day bout of necking; he could still spot the good spots even while being older than dirt!

A flash of blue hair and a giggle alerted him to the exact location. He saw Sister Francis attempting to shove at that damned old Irish flirt as he pulled off her habit and was nipping at her ear. "Stop! Please stop, I'm a nun!" It was really quite futile, like shoving at a ghost to stop coming at you. All you really were doing was shoving at something that was barely there and got freezing cold in the process. Conversely, it was surprising that Cuchulainn seemed to be able to pull off a solid object when he clearly WASN'T.

"Means nothing to me, my dear," said Cuchulainn softly into her ear. She stilled for a moment and looked at him in surprise. "If you're some sort of priestess or something, I don't really care."

"Well, I do," said Peter. Francis attempted to slap Cuchulainn as Father Peter spoke. He would have chuckled at him if it had actually managed to land. However, the fact that her hand went through him only caused her to shriek in fright and run away and Father Peter's ears to ring from the sound of it, furthering the headache he was currently suffering from since the realization of what was happening in his church.

"What in all Heaven and Hell are you doing here? Do you really not have anything better to do than to attempt to seduce a NUN?" said Peter, glaring at Cuchulainn.

Cuchulainn leaned back against the wall behind him, his arms behind his head and his legs crossed. "Not really. Since I can't do this to your dear king, all I've got are the women of the town and that little nun was particularly tempting." He sat up and ruffled his hair, smirking faintly at Peter as the headache throbbed more inside the priest's head. "Curvy and cute, that red hair and those eyes; she should never have made herself unavailable by this route."

Peter kept his cool as well as he could, glaring at Cuchulainn with disdain. "Get out."

Cuchulainn stood up and stretched. "Well, I suppose its back to the women of the town. Not really that many take my attention."

Peter stopped and rubbed his face. "Don't touch the women of this town, either."

"Then, what shall I do to entertain myself?" Cuchulainn's voice was serious, but there was still that smirk ever present on his face.

"Endure it. You're dead, so deal with it," said Peter, glaring at him dangerously.

Cuchulainn moved closer and leaned toward Peter. "Don't shove your morals onto me, priest," he said, his tone low and deadly cold, sending a chill through Peter's blood. Only very few could ever make him afraid like this; his headmaster being the top of the list. "I am not of your 'flock' nor will I ever. I do as I please and what I feel to be the right thing. Life is too short and death is too long to not attempt to live as happy as you can while you can."

With that, Cuchulainn walked toward the door, his gate relaxed as he disappeared into thin air. That had been the look, the voice and the walk of a man who might very well have attempted to kill Peter should he be so inclined to do so. Once more, his old headmaster filled his mind and a second chill ran through his blood. "I'm too old for this shit," muttered Father Peter as he rubbed his face again.

* * *

Gwenivere sat in front of the fire of the chambers she shared with Arturia. It was late and the other ladies had their duties they were finishing up and she had nothing better to do than to sit and work on her needlework. It helped her think and sometimes it helped to ease the stresses of living every day to simply work with her hands at something that worked a part of her she did not normally work. The air was getting chilly as she sat at the fireplace, the wind picking up outside.

She looked up as she heard the sounds of thunder rolling off in the distance. It was going to rain soon, the winds picking up and blowing the trees around. She could hear in the distance the forest rustling from it. She could hear people rushing about to get indoors before the storm came up upon them. Soon enough Arturia would come up to do some paper work before reading a little from her old history books before going to bed. It was one of her few routines that Gwenivere took note of.

However, something made Gwenivere very curious. What was it that Arturia read about in that old reference book she always kept around? Or was it an actual story book? Gwenivere did not know, for she had never been able to get a good look at the book. She knew Arturia prized it greatly and seemed to think she needed to keep it hidden; though, for a time, she had not even looked at it. When Gwenivere first "married" Arturia, she had seen the book hidden away with a lot of other books. It had been dusty and seemed as though Arturia had forgotten all about it, but recently Arturia had taken it out and had begun reading it. And Gwenivere knew exactly where Arturia kept it hidden.

Gwenivere looked around the chamber before sneaking over to the bedchamber. She knelt down beside the bed on Arturia's side and dug between the mattresses and pulled the book out. It was old enough that the binding was beginning to give way and the lettering on the cover had been scratched off. She opened it and the pages were clean enough and the lettering on the pages was clear. The book had "The Ulaid" written upon the title page and Gwenivere thumbed through it.

The pictures she saw in the book were well illustrated. They depicted images of men and women, sometimes fighting, sometimes gazing at each other from a distance; it was a very lovely book. Then, there was a picture that stood out at her. It was an image of a man strapped to a post by his belt, his oddly cropped hair messy with the long part in the back wafting in the wind. In one hand, he held a sword up to the heavens and he held his head back, though he might have been dead for all Gwenivere knew. He was bleeding severely and beaten, but he still stood against whatever foe had done this to him. It was a very moving image, one that struck Gwenivere deep into her heart. She looked for a name and found one that seemed foreign to her; though, as she gazed upon it, it came to her that she had heard it before. "Cuchulainn…"

"That would be me."

Gwenivere jumped slightly and spun around to see who had spoken. Her heart jumped up several paces as a shimmering looking shape seemed to appear slowly from the very air itself. When it formed into a human, it was the man with the oddly cropped hair with a long ponytail behind his head. His hair was a very pretty shade of blue that matched the blue of his kilt, a white shirt underneath with the sleeves rolled back showing a bit of the tattoos he had as well as old scars and well made boots on his feet. He was a very beautiful man, one that Gwenivere had never actually seen before in all her life. His smile and his eyes were like gazing upon either a roguish angel or a tempting devil.

"You… are Cuchulainn?" she asked, barely able to breathe from the very sight of him.

He chuckled and leaned against the wall of the bedchamber. "Aye, that would be me… or what is left."

"Are… are you the one who has been bothering my husband?" she asked, not taking a chance on anyone eaves dropping. "If you are, I must ask you why."

Cuchulainn eyed Gwenivere for a moment and smiled faintly. It wasn't an overly charming smile, but a genuine smile of interest that he gave her. As he walked toward her, she stumbled backward into the nightstand before realizing that he had cleared the area from the wall to her in little more than a couple of strides. He was, indeed, rather tall; probably just slightly over six feet or so. Gwenivere was not a tall woman as Arturia was not a tall woman either. He leaned over her easily and grinned faintly as he reached a hand up and stroked her cheek. "You're very pretty," he said softly, "Indeed, your 'husband' has picked a grand lady for his bride… but has he truly been able to consummate that marriage?"

Gwenivere's cheek heated considerably as she watched this seemingly somewhat transparent being lean ever closer to her, a chill coming over her body where he was closest to her. She felt a freezing cold upon her mouth and full breasts as he breathed on her mouth; one of his hands brushing close to Gwenivere's breasts. "You most definitely have the curves of a woman," he said in a low voice.

Gwenivere shot through his body and shivered horribly as she hugged herself, moving toward the door. "Why are you doing this?! I'm a married woman!"

"Funny thing to say when you've been eyeing that French fellow," he said, smirking faintly as he leaned on the bedpost.

Gwenivere's cheeks burned as she glared at him. She straightened herself and balled her small fists at her side, willing herself to stand tall as a queen should. "Leave this place now. I don't want you to bother either me or my husband, Lord Cuchulainn. Do you understand?"

"First, answer me one question," he said, holding up a finger to her.

Gwenivere frowned faintly and relaxed slightly. "What is it you wish to know?"

"How can two women be married and one pose as a king of all the land?"

Gwenivere's heart stopped as she heard the door open behind her and Arturia try to enter. Arturia stopped in her tracks as she peered around the corner toward Cuchulainn. Cuchulainn, however, continued to watch the pair with some amusement on his handsome face, leaning against the bed post still.


	7. Chapter Six

_**A/N: aaaaaaah I have sore legs . This is of course because I spent the better part of two hours standing and kneeling over and over again to look at book titles and what not at Hastings bookstore a couple days ago. . They don't hurt as much now as they did before, but guuuuuuuuuh!**_

_**Chapter Six**_

Arturia gazed at Cuchulainn coolly as she closed the door behind her. "I had thought the priest had dealt you a good blow. Why are you back, Cuchulainn? Come to bother my queen now?"

Gwenivere watched; her heart beating hard in her chest as she looked between Cuchulainn and Arturia, willing for one of them to make a move. It was as though it were a standoff between men that she was witnessing and all too scary to bear witness to when one of the "men" was a girl you would deem as close to you as a sister! Arturia had her kingly pride and she would let her have it if it didn't mean she might do something so terrible it might give cause for the people of the castle to suspect her of something. "Arthur," said Gwenivere, trying to keep her fear under control. He was a ghost, after all. At best he would simply be a pest, right? He couldn't harm Arturia even if he wanted to, right?

Arturia flicked her blue-green gaze over to Gwenivere then turned them back toward Cuchulainn. "Leave my home, leave my queen alone and leave me alone. We do not ask for your presence nor do we need it. I am the king of this land and she is my queen. What is done is done and I will not have you coming here and questioning me for it."

"So you fancy women?" Cuchulainn's gaze was an assessing one, not unlike Arturia's cool one.

"I love my queen as a king should," said Arturia carefully, "Anything else, hound of Ulster?"

"You still haven't answered me," he said smirking a little now.

"I have already answered your question," she said, her cheeks flushing faintly. She really did not wish to have this conversation right then and there!

"No, you avoided it with a vaguely related statement. I asked you if you fancy women," he said, that smirk getting broader. "And by the way you're avoiding it; I would have to say you don't."

"Whether I prefer a woman or a man is not necessary to whom I am," she said softly, hand twitching slightly by her side. Gwenivere saw the hilt of Excalibur on Arturia's hip and knew Arturia was close to losing what composure she had left. Not even Gwenivere had ever even tried to force her past such barriers, but Cuchulainn was doing a stellar job at it and was lucky he was already dead!

"On the contrary, it tells me what sort of woman you are," he said softly. Arturia was somewhat taken aback by this statement, stalling her hand at her side from her hilt to listen what nonsense he wanted to spout. "You see, it has been my experience that if a woman such as you likes other women, she herself thinks herself a man and will act like a man and challenge like a man until she is seen as ugly. She usually hates men and will think that every woman needs to stay away from men. I've seen only a very rare few women of this nature through time itself, but that's enough to give me a good idea. That you don't deny or acknowledge any real desire for your queen tells me that you don't naturally lust for women, but that you care for your queen a great deal. You act like a man and let others think of you as a man out of necessity just as you do say you love your queen out of necessity."

"You certainly are well spoken for a heathen Irishman," said Arturia softly.

Cuchulainn laughed and stood up straight, walking toward her. He leaned over her and seemed to push her back toward the door with just the appearance of him being close, though Gwenivere knew better that the sheer chill of his ghostly body would be enough. "Lord Cuchulainn, please leave Arthur alone!" said Gwenivere as she started toward them.

Arturia lifted a hand to Gwenivere, straightening to Cuchulainn's challenging form. Gwenivere stilled as she watched apprehensively. What on Earth was that ghost planning? She wasn't certain what the ghost planned to do, but it was enough to make her worry for Arturia.

"This heathen Irishman will make you ache from the very depths of your soul for these hands to be real," he said his voice soft and caressing. It even made Gwenivere's spine shiver from the sound of it and it wasn't even directed toward her! He leaned closer still and Arturia's body bowed backward a little from him zeroing in on her neck.

"I seriously doubt that, hound. Now leave," said Arturia as she shoved at his ghostly shoulders, her hands stopping at them as he seemed more solid now than he did a moment ago. In fact, now that she felt him, he seemed a bit warm as well under her fingers. She jerked back in surprise and hit the door; gasping in surprise. "Ah!"

Gwenivere saw the change as well. How could a ghost do this when he had no body to do this with? She started forward, but stopped at the look Cuchulainn gave her. It was a smirk in combination with a wink before he leaned in. He wasn't going to hurt her, but there were other ways of touching a person other than harm that could be treacherous!

Cuchulainn leaned closer until his nose touched Arturia's; his breath upon her lips was warm. If Arturia did not know any better, she would have thought he was actually alive by the looks of him. She felt a strange feeling in her chest, a fluttering in her heart as he seemed to press her against that door with just his closeness. She took a look into his eyes and that strange fluttering feeling amplified itself. He grinned faintly and trailed one of those hands up her stomach and between her breasts, though it was, this time, over her tunic. "You're wearing men's clothes again," he said, smirking more. She could even feel his lips moving just out of her reach of them!

"If I wore my dresses under the veil, someone might be able to spot the dress without thinking about it," she said softly, not entirely certain why she was speaking that way. Perhaps it was the secret of it that she hushed her own tone to keep prying ears from hearing her confession.

"Neither a man nor a woman, mmm?" he said with a grin plastered on his face. Arturia felt his fingers upon her skin as they snaked in through her collar and went between her breasts, brushing her there. "You have soft, smooth skin… a warm body just blooming into what it could be…. And a mouth," his voice dropped more, down to a whisper that fair growled to her from his chest, "that burns to be taken by me."

She opened her mouth to protest, but his descended upon hers quickly. It wasn't like the last time he kissed her, where it was only a faint feeling of his mouth on hers; this time the kiss was real and very hot. She reacted to it by trying to shove him away, but he took a hold of one of her wrists and held it away, the other hand wrapped around her before he lifted her up against him. His tongue flicked against hers in ways she had never felt before. The previous kiss had made her breathless, this one threatened to pull out her very soul. He growled and put more passion into the kiss as he let go of her wrist and pulled her legs around his waist. She attempted to shove at him again, pulling away briefly to breathe before he pulled her back for more. All of it was making her mind grow numb to even the fact that Gwenivere was standing right there watching.

Gwenivere's cheeks were flushed as she watched. To be held so by a man, even a man who was supposed to be a ghost, thrilled her. To have strong arms wrapped around her so tightly, her own legs around his waist, her hands upon his strong chest, to have all that seemed overwhelming and yet Arturia was experiencing it first hand. Just the sight of Cuchulainn in the heat of passion pulling out Arturia's passion was enough to make Gwenivere's heart flutter. Would the French knight be so passionate with Gwenivere if he were ever able to touch her in such ways?

Cuchulainn dropped Arturia against the door sharply, his breath coming in gasps. She panted as she looked to him, but found his head straying down toward her chest. She gasped and attempted to shove him away, but his hands gripped her tunic tightly. He looked pale, far paler than he had before. His body was growing transparent as he held onto her, falling to his knees on the floor before collapsing. She blinked and knelt down, pulling him up into her arms. He grit his teeth and twitched as his body grew cold and his appearance became fully transparent. "Ah," he said softly, twitching a moment and grunting as though he were in pain as he tried to speak more, "It.. it seems I've used enough energy for that…heh.. no worries, I'll try again once I'm sure I know I can keep it up." He chuckled weakly as he stopped twitching and seemed to level out in his appearance. He smiled faintly up at Arturia's worried face, her eyes wide as she gazed down at him and her swollen lips evident than he had actually touched them with his own. "I need to go recover my energy," he said with a faint smile. He reached a hand up and saw it go through her cheek. He frowned faintly as she shivered and shied away from the chilly feeling he gave her. Then, he stood up and disappeared.

Gwenivere rushed over to Arturia and knelt down to her. "Arthur, are you all right?" she said.

Arturia was flushed, but the look upon her pretty face was one of outright terror. That moment when he had dropped her had clearly scared her, for it looked as though for a moment he would disappear entirely forever. Or, could it be that Arturia was terrified of her own response toward Cuchulainn's advances? Gwenivere wasn't certain and she didn't want Arturia to be angry at her and walk away from her when she would be far safer here in her chambers with Gwenivere to watch over her. After all, that was what Gwenivere did best of all for Arturia.

"Come, come to bed and sleep, Arthur," said Gwenivere softly. "Don't think, just… lay down and I will take your boots off."

Arturia nodded as she regained what composure she had and did as Gwenivere bade her to do. Arturia lay down on the soft bed and let Gwenivere pull her boots off and the tunic off of her before covering her with the sheets and blanket. "Sleep, Arthur," said Gwenivere as she smiled faintly at her king, "Sleep and dream well."

With that, Arturia's eyes slipped closed and all went black as she shut down for the night.

* * *

Light shone from the sky through brilliant emerald green leaves. It colored everything in gold and green as Arturia lay out under a tree watching children play around in the field she found herself in. It was calm and peaceful under that tree, watching those children play their games. In the distance she heard a red haired woman cry out a name, but the name did not register to her ears. All she could hear were the children laughing and the birds chirping in the tree above her. Was this heaven?

She closed her eyes and smiled faintly. If she could be anyplace she wanted, she felt she might enjoy being in this place more than being in Camelot. In Camelot she was a king and she had duties to attend to. Here, she was simply sitting under a tree and thinking on how pleasant it was to be sitting under than tree.

"Are you a ghost?"

Arturia lifted her gaze toward a child who looked familiar, but she could not tell why. She looked him over and he held a strange sort of presence to his small being. He was small, entirely too small to be playing with a bunch of tall young boys. His eyes were blue and his hair flaming red, cropped in a style that she had once heard Father Peter claim was a mullet; the long part of his hair pulled back in a small ponytail. He grinned brightly at her and moved closer to her. "No, I am not a ghost," she said, smiling faintly toward the young boy. How could such a small boy take her attention like this?

He blinked those big blue eyes at her and moved even closer, putting his hands up to her to see if she really was solid. She felt his hands touch her, but it felt odd, as though she really didn't belong there. He wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled into her tummy, much like a boy would his mother or a man would his lover. She stroked his flaming red hair and frowned faintly when she barely felt it.

"What is your name?" she asked gently. The boy buried his face more against her and she frowned more at him. Something was wrong and she wasn't certain what. The red haired woman called a name she could not hear once more, closer this time. "Is that your mother?" she asked.

The boy lifted his blue eyes to her and they gazed at each other for a moment. Her heart felt strange in her chest as she gazed at this strange young boy. He smiled and shook his head. "I have no mother;" he said softly, "My mother is with my father in the sky."

She blinked and looked to the red haired woman in the distance and then looked to the boy. Now the boy's eyes were red and his hair was blue. She gasped and the boy smiled warmly at her before he stood up and walked away from her.

Arturia shot up in her bed and looked around her. Gwenivere was already gone and she was not alone still in the room. Not far off was the bright flaming red hair of Gawain as he read a book in a chair seated not far from her. "Gawain, why are you here?"

Gawain looked up and she saw a strange look in his eyes. They seemed to glow faintly as he gazed at her, bright and shiny like the brightest of emeralds. She frowned and moved to get up from her bed. She was still wearing her trousers and shirt, so she had little to fear if he saw through the veil of magic upon her.

"Good morning, cousin," said Gawain, smiling at her. She felt a strange shiver go through her at those eyes as they seemed to see right through her entire being. "Can you answer me something? It shouldn't take long."

Arturia nodded as she stood. "What would you like to know, Gawain?"

"When were you going to tell me that Merlin's got a spell on you, or did you already know it?"


	8. Chapter Seven

_**A/N: wow, lady in the water's soundtrack does stuff to my brain. XD Mmm and the Mayan Cocoa Spice tea I've got does stuff to my brain as well.**_

_**Also…**_

_**For the love of God and all that's Holy, would you people PLEASE write a comment or something? I'm not talking about people on you write comments all the time, no I mean the people on devart where I cross post this stuff. Everyone writes a comment for my comic pages and my artwork, but they never write a thing for my chapters. Oh I get a lot of hits, but not a single person aside from TWO who happen to be close friends of mine ever write anything! I don't want to bother them with saying something because they're busy a lot, but not all of you are so busy as to say something to me! Come on!!**_

_**Chapter Seven**_

"What do you mean?"

Gawain eyed Arturia for a moment, those odd green eyes of his roving over her body. "You've got spell work all over you. I can see it."

Arturia stiffened and watched Gawain carefully. "You can see spells? Are you a wizard like Merlin?"

"Nay, your sister is a witch and I inherited a small part of her power," he said softly, "I can see spell work like it were a brightly glowing net all over a person or a thing. I've been able to see like this since I was a kid."

Arturia frowned more and moved closer to him. "And what do you see of me?"

"My uncle who has a very suspicious amount of magic upon him," said Gawain, frowning more, "Pray tell me what you are hiding?"

Arturia's heart skipped a beat as she attempted to quickly form a reason for the spell work. She walked around and pulled a pair of stockings on after a moment as she sat on her bed. "It is because Excalibur has a spell upon me of protection," she said. "I don't even need it on me to be able to have its protection. The same goes for Avalon the scabbard. I don't need it on me to be able to heal from any wound, even from the jaws of death himself."

Gawain nodded as he watched her. "And now explain to me why you refuse to tell me you're a woman?"

Arturia stiffened and looked over at Gawain. He smiled faintly at her, his eyes no longer glowing so much as glittering with a big of mischievous joy. "Pardon?"

"You heard me," he said. He stood up and walked closer toward her before kneeling down. "You are still Arthur my uncle to me, only you'll be really my aunt, but you are still my king and I will still serve you. Just tell me why it is you choose to have others think you a man instead of a woman?"

Arturia's heart seemed to stop at this admission. One of her knights found out and was telling her it would be all right if she told him why she did it. Shouldn't the answer be obvious? Shouldn't the answer be that not all would be all right with a woman leading them as they would a man? She looked to those glittering green eyes once more and found herself compelled to answer him. His gaze was so honest and gentle, as if he knew that telling him would be harder than he could ever imagine. "Please," he said softly, "I must know why it is that I must stay silent for your sake."

"Because men will not follow a woman. Because women will not trust a woman leader and the men will fall behind them with the same sentiment." It was an admission she always feared saying allowed. It meant that it was more real than the illusion of everything being all right in Camelot with her as their king. "Because… they expected a man to pull the sword and they received a woman."

Gawain smiled faintly and nodded, bowing his head to her. "Aunt Arthuria," he said softly, whispering almost, "You have inspired me since you had taken the sword in the first place. My mother hates you, but she allowed me to come if you would let me be a knight in your circle. For this, she does not hate you so much." He stood and looked to her with that same gentle smile upon his handsome face. "Do not worry, I will not allow any other person to learn of this as I have. Your honor is safe with me."

Arturia was only somewhat surprised by the amount of honor and chivalry in her happy knight. He was the most joyous of her knights, Bedivere being the smartest of her knights and Lancelot being the greatest wielder of weapons of her knights. Each man had a special something about them that made them key to her counsel. Each man brought their special something and used it to better not only Camelot, but England. As he smiled at her, her confidence in his vow grew greatly and she bowed her head toward him. "Thank you, Gawain," she said.

Gawain grinned and nodded to her before walking out the doors. When he left, she lay back on the bed and gazed up at the curtains of the four poster bed she shared with Gwenivere. She reflected upon what had occurred the previous night when she had come in to sleep. Gwenivere was being cornered by Cuchulainn and for a very small moment she felt just the tiniest bit of jealousy toward Gwenivere for having his attention. She could not understand why when she did not naturally care for the ghost.

Or did she?

She could not understand her own feelings. They surged through her like waves, crashing and crashing but never ending; each wave bringing a new problematic feeling one right after the other. She could not care for or about Cuchulainn because he was dead and she was alive. She was posing as a man, she was King, and therefore she could never feel for him as he seemed to for her. She closed her eyes against the light in the room and remembered those blue eyes of the small boy who had hugged her waist. She had recognized him, but still couldn't place him. She remembered that his features changed slightly, but she couldn't remember how. What was wrong with her?

She stood up and stripped her clothing down before going over to have a good wash, dress and go about her duties. She needed to clear her mind and repent a little for being so wanton as to desire something she should never desire; the love of a dead hero.

* * *

Cuchulainn gazed out of the window in Arturia's chambers, looking toward the forest. Something was wrong. Something about him being there was wrong. What was wrong, he couldn't tell, but he knew something about him was not normal. Of course, he had never been normal. His dad took the sister of his foster father Conochbar as his wife and they disappeared behind the veil that separates the normal world from the god world. His dad was even the God of Light, which made him half god with a soul to match such a powerful lineage.

And yet, he still felt somehow like he was only a piece of himself and not the whole thing.

He frowned and rubbed his face. He had hid out wherever it was that he seemed to disappear to so that he might recover his energy. He remembered the feel of Arturia against his body, the feel of her mouth upon his and the taste of her. He wanted more than anything to show her just how well a good man could make her feel like a woman; how good it felt to be a woman and to desire like a woman. Such a thing could not happen unless he either wore himself out entirely or if he did something drastic.

He looked at his hands and saw the floor through them. A drastic plan indeed; the only thing drastic coming out of him would be if he managed to find someone about his height and weight and build and took them over. It would be a fine plan indeed, but there could be no such person in this world!

He looked down and saw the French man pass underneath the window. A thought struck him as he watched the man pass by. He was a bit taller than Cuchulainn, but he was thin and muscled like Cuchulainn. Such a man would indeed be very useful to Cuchulainn if he could simply find a way to take the man's body over.

He moved away from the window and looked to the door. He would have to pool his energy, wait several weeks before he appeared again. When he appeared, he would have to search out Lancelot before dealing out his plan. This would indeed take a lot more of his strength than he was accustomed to using, but that mattered not. He wanted to truly feel Arturia squirm underneath him, crying out his name in pleasure as he loved her the way she should be loved.

He placed a hand over his heart and rubbed at the spot. He was a ghost and yet he could still feel a heart beating in his breast. What sort of strange spirit was he? He chuckled at himself and shook his head. It mattered not anymore. He had a plan to carry out and he would have to first pool his energy to do it with. He could only hope that the time away would make Arturia more wanton for his attention than make her forget about him. After all, it was hard to forget when you have been loved by the Hound of Ulster. With that, he grinned and made himself disappear.

* * *

Gwenivere looked nervously around before she walked toward the place where the French knight spent the greatest amount of his time; in the training ring. She found him there, swinging a sword before swinging around a lance and then grabbing everything else around him as though it were a sword or a club and wielding it. He was marvelous! He was truly a wondrous thing!

She slipped closer and hid behind the weapons shed where the practice armaments were kept. Lancelot's body twisted around as he heard someone walk closer, looking toward her with his strange pale eyes. "My lady?" he asked as he looked around for her.

Gwenivere walked out from behind the shed and made her way toward him, her hands behind her back and wringing. "Good sir knight, you are quite wonderful with your practice," she said, smiling at him. "One wonders if perhaps you should relax a little and take a break."

He eyed her over and smirked faintly before grabbing a towel and wiping his face with it. When he looked back at her, his eyes roved over her once more. "One would think perhaps the lady was hoping for more."

"So uncouth!" Gwenivere gasped mockingly. "Perhaps I should tell my husband of this encounter, one would think he might find that interesting."

"Your husband then should keep a leash on his queen, for she is far too outspoken toward a man such as myself to be allowed loose," retorted Lancelot, his grin growing.

Gwenivere's heart raced at that grin. She moved closer to him, her decorative tiara making a little noise with the peal bead strands that hung in the back of the tiara over her hair. Her deep violet dress making a soft swishing sound as she moved closer toward Lancelot. "Are you issuing a challenge against your queen, good sir knight? I'll have you know that I was the best at the foot ball games we played in Leoness."

"A game would still become dirty should I have to fight you, dear lady," said Lancelot softly. "I would not wish to sully your person with my filth."

"What filth? I only see a man who needs a good shave and a bath."

"One that my lady should not concern herself with," said Lancelot sharply. He looked away from her and began putting the weapons away.

Gwenivere had a strange feeling in her breast as she gazed upon Lancelot's back. He had scars littering his back, though they looked to be old scars. Was he a slave at some point? She knew he had come to Camelot hoping to become a knight in Arturia's ranks, but he had also come through because he was a lonely traveler. He had been relatively well dressed, but his appearance was shaggy, dirty from the dust of the roads being kicked up on his clothes and skin. After some time in Camelot, he had grown far better looking than he had when he first arrived.

"You are looking much better than when you first arrived, knight of the lake," she said softly. "I hope your stay in Camelot and the services and the privileges of our home has made it easier upon you to live. You did not look well when you came to us and yet you somehow managed to best every single of our knights." Her breath hitched slightly as she remembered watching him, somewhat overcome with the emotion of it. "You are so remarkable… so beautiful and unique," she said softly.

Lancelot stopped and looked to her fully, gaze wide and surprised at her admission. She smiled at him faintly and bowed her head. "Please be careful, Sir Lancelot," she said, "We would be hurt deeply if you should harm yourself for no reason."

Lancelot made to move toward her, but she walked off quickly, her ears turning pink as she did so. Lancelot's heart raced in his chest as he moved to the wall of the grounds and leaned into it. What was wrong with him that he could feel so worked up, so loved, by a woman he could never have?

He looked up after a moment and found himself looking at a tall man, close to his height and build, sporting what could be described as a blue mullet; short cropped hair slicked back on top and the long hair pulled back into a ponytail in the back by a silver hair piece. He eyed Lancelot in a very discerning fashion, as though he were trying to figure something out. After a moment, he disappeared. Lancelot walked over to where the spectre stood and looked around for any evidence of his ever standing there in the first place. When he found none, he was at a loss to explain the fellow with the blue hair. Then, he walked to the shed and put the rest of the weapons away and went back up to join his fellows for counsel.

* * *

Merlin gazed into his hand mirror with a frown. As he gazed into it, he wondered if he shouldn't talk to one of the professors at the old wizard school he had once attended when he was growing up. He wasn't entirely certain why, but he felt as though they might come into play and perhaps it had to do with Cuchulainn's spirit inhabiting the castle. He decided against it and put the mirror down before walking over to the window and looking out. He gazed at the people milling about and down at the form of Lancelot du Lac as he walked back to the castle from the training grounds. That was another fellow he was uncertain of.

Lancelot's ability to use anything he could hold in his hands as a weapon, his unnatural luck and the state of filth he was in when he first came to Camelot spoke strange things of his person. Was he to be trusted? Was he as good as Arturia claimed him to be? He had been a wanderer before, dusty and dirty, his hair pulled back into a low braid in order it keep it out of his way and far longer down his back than most women kept theirs. Merlin had not interfered, feeling the man should be allowed to show himself to be a good man rather than judging him outright. Indeed, the man showed himself to be a stellar knight for Arturia. The only problem was that he seemed very interested in Gwenivere.

While he watched Lancelot and Gwenivere, a part of him understood why the two seemed to gravitate toward each other. Like the stories before the tragedy that befell the Earth, the oldest of fairy tales like the tales of King Arthur, he knew these two were destined to desire each other more and more and that eventually it might be the very downfall of all that Arturia built. And yet…

And yet… he continued to make things happen the way they were supposed to for the sake of the thought that perhaps maybe this time it won't end in tragedy, perhaps this time it will be a beautiful and long relationship between king and country. It was only a hope that perhaps not everything would play out in the same way as it did previously. After all, history may repeat itself, but sometimes you can shape your destiny even as you become a part of that repeating history. With that hope he could continue to encourage Arturia and the knights to do what was right for them.


	9. Chapter Eight

_**A/N: I have seen nothing but how horrible Lady in the Water is for the past couple of days. Why is it that everyone hates it so much when it's so beautiful? This would definitely be like the movie Neverending Story when I was a kid, if it had been out back then. It's got so much in it that I love and so much that makes me feel good.**_

_**Anyway, I'm glad my friends said something about the last two chapters. Thanks, Alexiel, Kay. I'm also glad ya'll liked the little kid, 'cause I though he was adorable. XD**_

_**Chapter Eight**_

Arturia noticed Cuchulainn's absence. It was an odd feeling to go into her chambers and not feel his presence there or feel as though someone was going to come soon. Oh, she did wait to see if he would appear again, but he did not. She rationalized her waiting as she wanted to give him a piece of her mind for what he had done to her previously, but in reality, as she allowed herself to remember when she was trying to sleep, that she did indeed enjoy what he had done and wanted more.

She sat up in the bed she shared with Gwenivere and thought about it once more. Gwenivere had been quite happy as of late, though she could hardly blame her. She worried after Arturia constantly, always worried that Arturia was not sleeping or eating well or some other such thing. It was one of the many traits Arturia loved in Gwenivere. She was sweet and put others before herself. It was something Arturia had begun to feel very strongly toward until Cuchulainn appeared.

The dreams were getting more frequent as well. Always, she would be sitting under that same tree she had before and watching a field of green. In the distance she could see a town that had man people milling about, but she never moved from that spot to see what else was in this dream world she found herself in. And soon, that small red haired boy would appear.

He would sometimes appear out of no where or be sitting and waiting for her to open her eyes and see him. A few times he was playing games with the boys in the field and he could come over after a while, sitting with her while the boys called him names for talking to her. They were peculiar names as well. They claimed him a devil worshipper or some such thing for "talking to ghosts". He would get angry and throw rocks at them before sitting down with her once more and hugging her around her waist. He really was far too small to be playing with those larger boys, but he seemed to hold himself up fine to them.

It was on a night like the rest that she found herself sitting under that same beautiful tree and looking across at the village of people. It was summer and the air was hot, the grass still as green as ever, though. She watched as children laughed not that far off as they disappeared into the woods nearby. She looked up and saw the little red haired boy standing before her again as she had all that time. He had grown a bit, though he was still quite short. Now, he was short and very thin.

"Hello," she said as she smiled faintly. "You have grown, it seems."

The boy gazed down at her and kneeled down in front of her, smiling faintly. "Aye, I have. In just a month I've grown very fast. My aunt says it's all the milk she's been giving me."

"You speak so strangely compared to the little boy who hugged my waist," she said, still speaking softly as though the dream would stop if she spoke up any more. "You sound more grown up."

"My aunt says the same thing, but I feel no different," he said, smiling at her as he pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged them.

"Your aunt is the woman who I keep seeing calling for you, right?"

"Aye, that'd be her." The boy smiled more and moved closer, sitting upon Arturia's lap and hugging her around her neck now. "I feel so strange," he said softly, "I feel as though… as though I need to see you here every night."

"Night? But it is day," she said. In an instant, the world became so dark she could barely see anything around her. "Ah!"

"My friends play out in the field at night and my aunt calls me in. They call me names because I talk to you out here where I could catch my death," he said a he nuzzled into her neck. It was an odd sensation, one she knew, but she could barely feel it.

"Why have I seen it as daytime when I see you?" she asked.

"I don't know."

Arturia stroked the boy's back and felt his young muscles underneath his tunic. He was going to grow up into a very strong boy, if a bit thin. He was indeed showing handsome features that would definitely gain the attention of all the girls as he grew. She smiled faintly as she touched his shoulder. "You're such a handsome boy," she said softly, "I wonder how many girls' hearts you'll make stop when they see you?"

He didn't move, but a very small amount into her neck, as if to block out what she said. "If I love like a man does, then I want to love you."

She frowned faintly. She was flattered, but she was unnerved and she couldn't figure out why. Why would it unnerve her so much that he wanted to love her when he was older? It would certainly be a very pleasant courtship should he prove to be the man she felt he could be. "Why do I always come here?" she said softly.

The boy lifted himself from her neck and gazed at her as he tilted his head slightly like one would expect a dog to do or a puppy. She giggled faintly behind her hand at him as he scowled a little and looked away, pouting. "Apologies, your expression was so adorable I could not help myself."

For a while, they remained silent until the moment passed and all they could hear was the sounds of the night around them. She smiled faintly at him and lifted her hand up to his face, stroking his cheek. "I always come here and always find you, such a small boy with such a grand force of life within you. You impress me so often, child, but I feel as though I would never be able to let you court me when you grow old enough to know what feeling love for a woman is."

He took her hand and hugged it to his thin chest. There, she could also feel young muscle still building; he was indeed very stringy. "Is it because you are a ghost or a faery?" he asked, his face set in determination. "I don't think I care if you are. I know that even in stories from the ancients and beyond such things can be overcome, even if I die."

She frowned and pulled her hand from him. "Do not wish for death, child. You've not yet tasted what life has to offer, nor love… you should not wish for such things."

He frowned more and looked away to the ground, still sitting upon her lap. He clasped his hands in his own lap and stroked his thumb idly with his other thumb as he thought upon what she said to him. "I'm not like the rest here," he said softly. She blinked at him in confusion. "I'm not normal. I see things when I sleep and sometimes when I'm awake. I know things and always feel as though I'm close to whatever it is that makes me feel that way, but am never near enough to know exactly what it is."

Arturia frowned faintly and reached up to stroke his cheek again. "Just how old are you, child?" she asked, now curious to find out how old this boy who seemed so strange and alone in a place where he had so many people around him.

"I'm ten," he said, grinning at her.

She frowned more. "How long have you been seeing me?"

"Since I was five," he said, smiling more.

"But to me, I've been seeing you every day, not night and you are smaller than you are now," she said.

He shrugged and reached up to her face. She barely felt his fingers stroke her cheek as he smiled at her. "I just know who it is I see and it is you. Before you didn't how up but once every year and then it's been every night," he said with that small smile on his small, handsome face, "And I know now that I want to be where you are. Are you a princess from the past?"

"I am no ghost," she said with a small smile toward the boy, "I am.. I don't really recall who I am at the moment, but my name is Arturia."

He grinned the sort of grin one would expect from an older boy, one full of play and mischief, one who had a few plans already forming as to how to make something work. "All right, Lady Arturia," he said, that grin getting wider as he put his finger on the tip of her nose, "I will one day be your knight and I'll be the only knight you will ever need."

Then, as he spoke, it all seemed to fade away and she was left staring at the canopy of her bed. The dreams she had become so used to having were getting more frequent and the feelings that she had in them seemed to surface more and more when she waked. The boy always looked decidedly familiar with a very handsome face and a stringy body. A chill in the air made her dig herself more under the bed covers before she closed her eyes again. Perhaps she would dream of something else this time rather than that strange emerald green world that the red haired boy inhabited.

* * *

Weeks went by and there was no sign of Cuchulainn ever showing up again. Arturia began to wonder if perhaps it had only ever been inside her head, though she could dismiss that since Gwenivere could validate that the ghost of a hero had indeed kissed Arturia so thoroughly that she felt as though her very soul had been embraced by him. She began to want his attention, though she hardly knew why. She began to want that look he always gave her to be directed toward her now. Gwenivere, however, seemed perfectly at ease. Arturia wondered what it was that was making Gwenivere so happy lately, but she decided against it. She didn't want to ruin the happy high that Gwenivere seemed to be on with her problems.

It was as Arturia was walking toward the door that a strange sensation hit her. It felt as though someone was near her, but she knew she was alone. She looked around and for a moment, just a moment; she felt she had seen a bright pair of red eyes in the air before they disappeared into smoke. "What devilry is that ghost cooking up?" she said to herself before she put a hand over her heart to calm it. Oh, did her heart pound! Was it because she had been startled, or had it been because of something else?

* * *

Lancelot watched from his place in the field to see Gwenivere not far off as she smiled at him and walked on. She really was a genuinely beautiful woman, much like a rare jewel with all the shining glory of a deep hued and gloriously faceted sapphire. As she disappeared with several other ladies back toward the castle, he saw out of the corner of his eye a man standing not far off.

Lancelot turned to see who it was that stood off out of his vision, but nothing greeted his eyes. He looked around and frowned, heading back toward the castle to collect his thoughts. Something was terribly amiss and he must see if things were well in the castle, especially his king. As he entered through the main entrance, he stopped when he saw that same man he had seen in the field and in the training circle. It was the strange man with blue hair and red eyes, the ghost that disappeared after he grinned at him!

Lancelot looked around and found that no one was looking at him and made to run elsewhere, to lure the ghost away lest he be seen as mad or worse! He found himself a good empty corridor and stopped, leaning against the wall to look around carefully.

"You certainly like to run," said a man's voice near him.

Lancelot looked over and saw the red eyes of the ghost and moved away sharply from it. "Who are you," he said.

The ghost smirked faintly and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He really wasn't much shorter than Lancelot. The man that stood before him could have been only an inch or two over six feet. "I am someone that needs your body," said the ghost. Before Lancelot could say a word, the ghost snapped his hand out into Lancelot's body and everything seemed to disappear from his sight as his mind was packed neatly back behind the ghost.

* * *

Arturia heard a knock on the door in front of her. The door to the main chamber rattled slightly as who ever it was knocked a little harder to gain her attention. She moved toward it and unlocked it carefully, watching for anything unusual. She peered out carefully and saw Lancelot's tall figure standing there towering over her. "Sir Lancelot, what brings you here?" she asked.

Lancelot smiled faintly at her and she stood back to allow him in, closing the door behind her. When he didn't speak, she frowned more and moved toward him cautiously. "Sir Lancelot, this is your king speaking to you. State your purpose or I'll throw you out of my chambers this moment."

"Hello, Arturia," said Lancelot, only he seemed to lose his French accent and gain an Irish one. Arturia's eyes widened and backed away toward her sword as she looked up at his eyes. They were bright red with slitted pupils, glittering like rubies in the light of the windows as he gazed down at her. His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her back quickly into his body.

"Let go of me, you devil!" she snarled before kicking him on the shin. He grunted in pain and went after her again as she made a mad dash for her sword. He grabbed her by her waist and pulled her up against his body once more, wrapping her legs around his waist like he did that one night. She shoved at him hard, but she could not budge him for how much bigger he was than her. "Let go of me, Cuchulainn!"

Arturia kept thrashing and thrashing, trying to throw off this thing that looked like one of her knights, but was really inhabited by that damned ghost. She couldn't do it, She felt his hand on the back of her head and felt his lips press against hers, muffling her cries of anger. Part of her mind shut down at the kiss, silencing her as she reciprocated the coaxing motions of his mouth with hers. For a moment, she could almost swear she smelled green grass and fresh spring breezes coming from him, reminding her of the dreams she would have.

After a moment, he stopped and gazed at her with those red eyes of his. While she could see Lancelot's face before her, the feeling she felt was not that of Lancelot, but of Cuchulainn. His very spirit had a strange hold over her heart, let alone the sight of him. He smiled faintly at her, though it was Lancelot's lips that moved, she saw Cuchulainn's bright smile at her in the semi-lit room. "Aye, it's me," he said softly. "And I'm borrowing this man's body so that I might feel you."

Arturia gazed at him and could not keep herself from touching his face, though she felt foolish doing so. "Why do you keep coming to me like this, hound?" she said.

He smiled a little more and kissed her fingertips and her palm before grazing his teeth against her wrist. She shivered and her heart started pounding in her chest. He leaned close to her and nuzzled against her forehead, closing his eyes and smiling a faint smile. "I wanted to be with you, Arturia," he said, his voice still as soft as though if he spoke up he would break whatever was allowing him to stay inside Lancelot's body. "I've felt drawn to you since I first saw you as a child, running out to meet me from your master's forest home. I roamed for a long time, thinking I belonged no where. I had been given the opportunity to come to Earth, but I was given no home to roam. Ulster wasn't where it was supposed to be, strange people and weapons, strange vehicles and carts were all that littered where I had once called my home. They were little more than monuments to a time when humans warred with far greater power than they should ever have had."

He shifted slightly and rubbed her back gently. "I thought, wouldn't it be nice to see what came of that silly little girl who would continue to tell me she was a boy even after I already knew the truth? And then I… I don't know what happened, but I felt as though I disappeared for a time. I found you here." He grinned and kissed her nose, chuckling. "Eh, well, it sounded good in my head anyway."

"Are you saying all that you just told me was just some speech you made up that you thought might woo me?" said Arturia, glaring at him. He laughed and made his way to the bedchamber with her still attached to his front like some absurd monkey.

"No, actually, I told you the truth, but listening to myself, I sounded like a love sick little boy," he said, continuing to chuckle. He closed the door with his back and smirked at Arturia with a devilish grin.

Arturia gazed at him through her lashes, uncertain if she should trust him. No, she knew she couldn't trust him, for he was a pervert and proud of it. She knew what he wanted from her, but for the life of her she wanted it from him. She wanted to know what it felt like to be loved by a man, even if Cuchulainn was simply borrowing a man's body to touch her with. It wouldn't be the same, she knew, but it was at least _something_.

He reached a hand up from her spine and touched her cheek, his other hand holding her up against him by her rear. "You're so very beautiful, little king," he said softly, smiling at her with a smile that made her heart beat faster. In that instant, she no longer cared that it was her own knight Lancelot that Cuchulainn inhabited; she wanted to feel Cuchulainn make love to her as he was told to have done in all those stories. She moved closer and kissed Cuchulainn, her cheeks aflame as her heart fluttered like that of a caged bird. He responded and coaxed her mouth open with his tongue. She made a small sound in the back of her throat as she felt his tongue slither over her lip before she opened her mouth to him. Every fiber of her being seemed to become excited by this simple contact; her skin felt as though it was being electrified by the mere closeness of him.

Cuchulainn groaned into her mouth as the hot feeling of her body pressed closer against his wantonly. He moved closer to the bed blindly as sensation shot through every part of his borrowed body. He swore to himself in that moment that if he were ever able to make use of his own body with her, then he would do it. It was awkward as hell trying to work this extra tall one that he was unaccustomed to.

He lowered her to the ground and bent down to kiss her still, though she was by far much shorter than him still. His heart pounded in his chest as he felt the familiar rush of excitement flow through him as he nuzzled lower; pulling apart clothing and removing it from her as he nuzzled and kissed over her breasts and belly. Naked before him, she flushed terribly and covered herself. "I thought you said you were a king, uncaring of how you might appear to a man," he teased, grinning deviously at her from near her hips.

Arturia's cheeks burned and she looked away in her embarrassment. He smiled faintly at her and kissed her belly, flicking his tongue out against her warm skin. She gasped softly and put her hands on his face to shove him away. "Stop it," she said, "You tease me, but you really just wish to break me! I know now why you are so interested in me!"

He didn't stop, however. He continued until he was firmly between her thighs and flicking his tongue where she was most sensitive. She gasped and shuddered where she stood until he forced her to lie back on the bed. Arturia's body was soaring on a high that she had never experienced before and it scared her. She had no control over her body and what raged through it as he pumped his fingers inside her carefully. Then, at last, she shuddered around his fingers and bit her hand to keep from screaming from the absolute pleasure that rushed through her body.

Panting, Arturia numbly looked around until she found Lancelot's face and for a moment, just a moment, she saw Cuchulainn smirking faintly at her with that devil's charm pouring through that smile of his. He continued to move his fingers in and out of her body slowly to soothe away the aftershocks of pleasure that still raced through her body, but lessened slowly, leaving her feeling both satisfied and yet wanting more.

"So, why am I so interested in you, then, hmmm?" said Cuchulainn softly, lowering himself over her body so that he might gaze down at her better. "Aye, I want to break you. I want to turn you inside out and force you to see what sort of a woman you really are. I want to be the one that makes you ache inside until you can't have anything other than me to make you feel better. I said so before. You may be a king by profession, but you are most decided a woman by nature."

Arturia gazed up at Cuchulainn and reached up to touch his cheeks with her hands. How could she fight something so hot and demanding as this man's desire for her? It burned her even through his speech and seared her so that she felt branded by him. That he gazed at her so intensely made her feel strange and the kingly pride inside her wanted to shove him away again so that she might regain what was left of her senses. However, for this moment, she allowed herself the luxury of letting him prove her wrong. His eyes closed as she touched him as though the sensation was something he had wished for a long time for, like a prayer come true.

She lifted herself up and kissed him gently, feeling him lean into her until she was pressed back into the mattress of her bed chamber. She let her hands drift over him until she slowly helped him out of his clothes. She felt a strange bulge pressing against her that made her remember just what was about to occur in that bed. Cuchulainn groaned as she touched the bulge gently, feeling how aroused he was, even if it wasn't truly his body she was feeling. When she had shed him of his clothes, she stroked the length of his arousal carefully, curious as to the look and hardness of it. Cuchulainn hiss in her ear and groaned loudly as she continued to touch it. "You'll be the second death of me yet," he said, laughing breathlessly. "Ah... It's been too long since I've felt this."

Arturia looked to the face she had grown accustomed to seeing as one of her knights and now saw once more the look of Cuchulainn peering through it as though the face of Lancelot was merely a veil to see things through. However, his passiveness in allowing her to touch him so was brief. Soon, he was kissing her again and moved down over her breasts to where he suckled and nipped at her nipples, forcing her to bite her hand once more to keep from yelping in surprise at the sudden thrill going through her.

Then, all went blindingly painful. She felt his cock inside her and felt as though he had torn her apart from the inside. He groaned and leaned down over her, panting heavily as though she had wounded him. He hummed softly to her as he held himself still inside her, or really as still as he could make himself. "Shhh," he mumbled to her, "It's all right." He looked up to her face to see tears slowly falling over her cheeks into her lovely blonde hair. He leaned closer and licked them away before kissing her carefully. Then, very slowly, watching her face to see her reaction, he began thrust inside her, hissing softly at how tightly she gripped him.

After a while, the pain eased and all Arturia felt was more insanity bashing away at her soul. The maddening frenzy of what he was building inside of her was threatening to once more tear down her control and pull out something that she was uncertain what it would be. The sensations of his manhood thrusting into her, his strong body against her, his mouth nipping and suckling at all the most sensitive areas of her body seemed to be the only things she could think about. Soon it was so blinding that she was clawing at him, her body arching toward him for more and more. She trembled and shivered, moaning loudly and gasping each time he went deeper inside her or went faster until she pulled him down and kissed him hard to prevent the scream that she wanted to let out from escaping the confines of her bedchamber. He gripped her body to him in the same moment and gritted his teeth as she convulsed around his borrowed manhood, spilling hot seed inside her until he had none left.

Panting heavily, Cuchulainn held Arturia to his borrowed body kissed her gently. His heart slowed down its fast pace as he rubbed her sides and kissed over her cheeks and forehead. Slowly, he pulled out of her and moved so that he lay on his back and he pulled her to his side, grinning.

"Is it… always so powerful?" she asked softly against his chest. In some ways, she really was still like that little girl he had glimpsed in the forest. It made him chuckle as he ran his fingers over her back.

"Aye, sometimes with certain people it can be," he said.

She blushed faintly and looked away from him, curling up against his side until she was comfortable. "I… think I like it with you," she whispered.

In an instant, Cuchulainn let out a cry of pain. Lancelot's body rolled from the bed and onto the floor before a second one, one that was decidedly blue haired and also naked rolled away from Lancelot's. Arturia sat up sharply and watched as Lancelot groaned and stood up slowly. Slowly, the blue haired ghost stood up and leaned on the chair near him, panting heavily.

Lancelot staggered slightly and rubbed his face. "Where… am I…?" He trailed off as he saw Arturia and stumbled backward, falling on his rear hard. "My… M-my king!"

"Ahhh, seems I didn't think too much further than this."

Lancelot turned to see Cuchulainn standing and smiling faintly at him. "You... You took... You took over my body?"

"Aye, I did," said Cuchulainn. "I did it so that I might very well consummate m'feelings for your king there, as I can't do it on my own."

Lancelot blinked and looked over at Arturia, realizing just what he was seeing on her, or what he did not see. Arturia pulled the sheet up over her body and looked away, her cheeks turning red. "I do not ask for your forgiveness, Sir Lancelot," she said softly.

Understanding of what occurred dawned on Lancelot's handsome face. It almost made him sad to think of just what had to have been done just for this ghost to do what he wished. The king was a woman and she had fallen in love with a ghost. Her queen was therefore not married to her in the strictest sense, but was her wife for show. That his king was a woman made him uncomfortable, but the longing to touch Gwenivere was something he could sympathize with. Were he simply a ghost, he might have thought of doing similar as this man had.

Lancelot stood up slowly and then bowed down to Arturia, his long black hair falling around his face like a curtain. How had she not noticed that hair before? "Sir Lancelot, why are you—?"

"I have pledged myself as a knight of this kingdom, to be a knight for my king. He has often praised me as being the greatest of his knights with arms, that if he should have need of a man to ride against a foe with, I would be his first choice."

Arturia rubbed her arm as she watched Lancelot, frowning faintly. "Lancelot…"

He looked up and those pale eyes of his were so intense with the determination inside him that it made her heart stop just a little. Cuchulainn frowned faintly at Arturia, but said nothing, more interested in what the damned knight was going to do next.

"You are still my king," said Lancelot, "I would serve no other but by your side should you continue to have need of me."

"Even if I am a woman?" asked Arturia, watching Lancelot for any form of falsehood.

"Yes, but especially because you are a woman," he said softly. "As such, you are prone to worse problems than any man around could ever experience."

She nodded after a moment and watched as Lancelot stood and moved toward the clothes that he seemed to have discarded from his person when he had not realized it. "Therefore," he said softly, "your queen is relatively unattached to you, isn't she? Is the marriage you have not for show?"

Arturia's heart pounded in her chest as something strange bubbled inside her. "Yes, she is for the most part for show, but she is still my wife."

Lancelot pulled his trousers on and then his shirt and tunic. "Then, I shall protect you both as a man should."

What chivalry this knight displayed! Shown that his king was indeed a woman, he did not cringe away at it but seemed more determined than ever to serve to his fullest potential for her. He, like Gawain, was a rare treasure of a knight and she was proud of him. "Thank you, Sir Lancelot," she said, smiling faintly at him.

He looked over his shoulder toward her and smiled faintly before bowing his head and walking out with his belt and boots. Arturia sighed and looked over toward Cuchulainn. Was it her imagination or did he seem more transparent than he had previously?

Cuchulainn smiled a little and moved to walk over to her before he dropped to his knees and fell backward onto the ground with a yelp. Arturia's eyes widened as her heart seemed to stop entirely, running over to his side without regard for her nudity. "Cuchulainn!" she cried out.

Cuchulainn gazed up at her and grinned faintly. "It seems I used up far more energy than I thought," he said before grunting and shuddering on the ground.

Arturia leaned over him and attempted to lift him up, but her arms went right through his chilly body. "Cuchulainn, wha.. why are you disappearing? You can't die, you're already dead!"

Cuchulainn lifted a hand up to her cheek, but it didn't make contact. Tears dripped from her eyes as the realization that this wasn't the same as the time when he made himself solid to kiss her. This was far more permanent looking than that time. He smiled slightly at her and continued to try touching her face. His hand went into her cheek and touched her somewhere deep inside her body that she had no idea there could be such a place inside her. It was the same as before, a sort of soul touching as his spirit collided with hers. Then, all went bright and sunny, green grass moving in a slightly breeze. The laughter of children in the summer air as a boy ran into view, his hair long in the back and short on top and bright flaming red.

"So that's where I've been off," he said softly, "And here I thought I disappeared into oblivion."

Arturia looked down at Cuchulainn and trembled. The sense of peace that the vision brought her did not help the smile of absolute resignation upon Cuchulainn's handsome face. He winked at her as his body started disappearing into a million sparkling stars that lifted up into the air toward the window. "I will find you again, Arturia Pendragon. Count on it," he said, his voice leaving on the same breeze that pulled the stardust of his body away with it. Then, so softly she barely heard it, she heard a whisper in her ear. "I love you."


	10. Chapter Nine

_**A/N: lalalalala so ya'll like last chapter. **_

_**Chapter Nine**_

That was how Gwenivere found Arturia. She was huddled against the rock wall of their bedchamber, naked and holding her knees, her hair out of its usual braided bun and down around her shoulders. Her blue-green eyes were puffy and red around the edges, as though she had been crying for a long time. At that time, no one had been in the corridors, not even the maidservants and whatnot, for several hours yet. If anything had transpired there in that room, it was conveniently not witnessed.

When asked what had happened to Arturia, all Gwenivere could get from her king were a few words or perhaps a sentence. "He said he loved me," she would say softly. It was though it had given her the greatest shock of her life to have a man tell her "I love you", but Gwenivere was smarter than that. She knew who it had to have been that came to Arturia that day. No other reason could there be for both Arturia's state of mind and the look of her.

It had taken some coaxing from Gwenivere to even move Arturia from her small area where she had spent so long huddled against that wall. When she had managed to make her move, she stumbled and trembled. Gwenivere saw the mixture of seed and blood on the inside of Arturia's thighs and saw the same on the bed covers. Gwenivere wasn't certain how Cuchulainn had managed it, but she was certain that if he had indeed managed to take Arturia's maidenhead that he most likely wouldn't be back for a long while yet. The last time he had made himself solid enough to kiss Arturia, he had disappeared for several weeks on end.

She washed Arturia then and let her lie in bed and sleep before walking out to talk with Gawain and Bedivere about Arturia being sick. The look in Arturia's eyes haunted her, though, even as she moved about and dealt with what her king could not. It was a look she had never seen before in the woman's eyes. It was like she had been given a gift and then had it die and decay into a putrid, fleshy mess right before her eyes just as she was seeing it for the gift it was. It was a terrible look to see. Gwenivere could only hope that it would leave Arturia after a while and she would go back to normal. She didn't like to think that perhaps Cuchulainn had done something terrible to her friend.

* * *

Sunlight filled his vision. Had he always been lying out in the sun? A boy no more than ten or eleven sat up in the field of green that he had taken to lying out in since seeing the faery woman for the first time when he was five. He felt as though he were missing something, forgetting something important. Something was nagging him inside his heart and his head, something inside his very soul nagged him terrible to remember what it was that he forgot, for it was very important. 

The boy stood up and looked around, seeing the tree he had taken to sitting under for long periods of time and letting the peace of the day lull him. There was another part of this place that bothered him. Ever since his "aunt" Mary had found him as a baby he had been told that everything was as it was because the ancient people had lived there that way and while they could not live as the ancients did they would certainly try. They used small rectangular devices that cooled inside called "freshers" that kept their milk and eggs and meat fresh when normal means could not. But to him they were as foreign as walking on water and he had been working with them since he was a baby. Such things frustrated Aunt Mary, but he wouldn't argue with her. She had a very mean temper that he didn't like to raise.

He walked to the little house he lived with Aunt Mary in and wiped his feet upon the mat at the door like he was supposed to. Aunt Mary was working in the small kitchen that was built into the side of the small house. Aunt Mary turned to him and smiled faintly. "Did you get the berries, Cuchulainn?"

A strange chord was struck inside the boy's body. "Pardon, Aunt Mary?" he said.

"I asked you if you got the berries I asked you to pick, Cuchulainn," she said as she chuckled, "We can't have pie without them, you know."

His name was Cuchulainn? That's right; that was what his name was. But, what was the significance? "Ah, no, Aunt Mary," he said, rubbing his head with a bandaged hand. He looked at it and frowned.

"You hurt yourself again playing around that tree, boy," she said, rolling her eyes at him. She turned and took his chin in her hand and looked at him carefully. "You've been playing in that field again, haven't you, Cu? You really like that old tree, don't you?"

"Arthur," he said softly.

"Pardon?"

"Ah… what.. who do you know is named Arthur?" he asked, clearly confused. Something was also incredibly off about his eyes. It looked as though they were almost changing color, but not.

"Well, there's the king of England, but he's a whole country away and we're in Ulster, so I don't doubt you've heard of him at some point." She turned and went back to the stew she was making and added more ingredients slowly.

"Aunt Mary," he said softly. She turned to look at him and he frowned faintly, not sure what he should say. "I.. who are my parents?"

She gazed at him gently, though a bit sadly. After a moment, she wiped her hands on her apron and turned to Cuchulainn and placed her hands on his shoulders. "I told you that I found you when you were only a baby, right?" she said, smiling faintly as she stroked his cheek. "I had lost my own baby around that time as well as my husband. I found you in that field under that tree, wrapped up in what almost looked like stardust," she said softly, "Other than that, I do not know much else about your parentage."

Cuchulainn's blue eyes gazed at Aunt Mary in wonder before he nodded. "I'll get the berries, Aunt Mary," he said, smiling faintly at her.

She smiled back and nodded before turning back to her stew. When he ran out, she looked out after him, feeling a strange feeling in her gut. Something was about to happen that she could never have anticipated before, but knew to be real for the very evidence was there in front of her with that flaming red hair and those bright blue eyes. She loved him dearly, but knew he would be soon changing drastically and not in the same way that the other boys would change. She had named him that name for a reason and that reason felt like it was going to evidence itself soon.

* * *

Father Peter sat in the old church and gazed at his wand idly. He saw a tall figure come in through the doors and stop, long black hair swinging around his back like a woman's. Peter stood and pushed his wand up his sleeve carefully, looking at Sir Lancelot with a small smile. "Hello, Sir Lancelot, what may I do for you?" 

"Confession," he said softly.

Peter raised an eyebrow before bowing his head and heading toward the confession booth and drawing the curtain behind him. Lancelot sat in the other side, behind the wooden screen to hide his face from Peter.

"Forgive me father, for I have sinned," said Lancelot softly. "I have never come to you for confession before, but now I need guidance."

"It is fine, child," said Peter softly, "Just tell me what troubles you and perhaps I can help you."

"I... feel very terrible thoughts coursing through me all the time, but most especially when I see one woman. However, I was recently in the bed of another and she bade me to keep it secret. I fear I may have given her more problems than anything else and I do not wish to cause her so many problems." Lancelot's voice was soft and terrified, but mostly just confused. Peter frowned faintly as he heard and attempted to decipher this strange confession.

"Going to bed with a woman will most definitely cause her problems if she is not your wife," said Peter with a sigh. "You might have caused her to become pregnant, but above all, if others find out, she will be labeled a whore, even if it was merely passion of the moment that caused you both to be so swayed by lust. You should be careful, child, far more careful if this woman you have lain with is a noblewoman. A bastard born will inevitably either be harmed through immediate death or be dead to the family he is brought up in."

Lancelot leaned against the wood of the confession box and rubbed his face. "I know, that is what scares me the most. I fear for her safety and the safety of the other woman whom I truly feel I love. Both I worry for and both I can not keep out of my mind."

"The other you love," said Father Peter, "You say you love her and yet you spent at least one night of passion in the arms of another?"

"It was sort of… against my will," said Lancelot carefully. "But what is done is done and I can not take it back. All I hope is that this conflict inside my heart will cease as I at least try to cover for the one whom I have lain with and care for both as they should be cared for."

"Are they sisters?"

Lancelot stiffened in the other side of the box, making Peter more interested. "If not sisters, close friends or cousins? You make them sound as though they live very close to one another and are very close to each other."

Lancelot coughed and moved out of the box. "I will deal with it on my own, then, Father Peter."

Peter walked out of the box after Lancelot, but stopped when the knight turned on him. "Why do you run from me? I have only been doing you asked from me," he said.

Lancelot turned away slowly and gazed at the door of the chapel. "Yes, you have," said Lancelot softly, "But I feel this is something that no confession can help, but something I must deal with on my own. God willing, I will take any of His support, but I doubt he will support me as I am now." Then, he walked out.

Two women who were close to one another, perhaps best friends or living together like sisters who might be noblewomen and one had lain with Lancelot without the benefit of marriage and the other he felt he truly loved. A thought struck him in his gut and he groaned as it occurred to him. Had Lancelot bedded Arturia and wished to only have Gwenivere as his own? If so, how could it not have been entirely on his own?

That ghost.

It had to have been because of that damned ghost!

Peter growled and walked back to his chambers where he punched the wall of the room and promptly knelt down holding his now painful hand in his other hand. That certainly taught him to keep from punching anymore rock walls covered with wood paneling ever again!

* * *

Sitting at the table in the middle of the kitchen, Cuchulainn poked at his stew with his spoon carefully. That same nagging feeling continued to bother him, telling him he was missing things, important things that should never be forgotten. "Has Ulster always been up north?" he asked softly. 

Aunt Mary blinked at Cuchulainn. "Oh no, it hasn't, but it has for a very long time. We used to be further south, but then Connacht pushed us all up north and this is where we've been for hundreds of years," she said, smiling faintly at Cuchulainn.

"Connacht pushed us up north?" Why did the name bring up unpleasant feelings? Could it only have been because Connacht had forced his kingdom out of its normal territory in the past? "Who is Maeve?"

"Maeve was the queen of Connacht at one point in time," she said, eyeing him carefully. Something was strange about him now that she got a good look at him. She reached over and touched his red hair, frowning more as a lock of blue caught her eye. "Cu, were you playing with the blue berries?"

"No, Aunt Mary," he said.

She frowned and looked at his face. His eyes seemed to look almost purple now. What was happening to her little boy that she had raided up on her own? "You should go to bed. You don't look well."

He nodded and stood up. He wasn't feeling that hungry anyway. His mind was too wild with so many thoughts running through it. He lay down in his small bed and looked up at the window. The sky was dark and it was littered with many bright stars. For a while, that was all he did, but then he found himself drifting off to sleep slowly and found himself standing in that field once more, staring at the tree. Underneath lay that pretty lady he had first felt love rush through his small body for when he first saw her. She was beautiful as she lay out with her hair down around her shoulders like spun gold and the blue dress covering her white shift and making her look like royalty. Not for the first time, Cuchulainn walked over and leaned down to touch her to see if she were even real.

She opened her eyes and they were far more different than the last time he saw them. They were sad and almost dead by the glassiness of them. He shook her shoulder gently and found her gaze directed toward him. She gazed at him for a moment before smiling faintly and stroking his cheek. "Cuchulainn," she said softly.

A rush went through his body. He saw things he had only thought were dreams come from places in his mind he never knew he had. He felt things that he had never felt before, remembered things; all of it moving like a blur inside his mind. Then, as quickly as it had come, it disappeared and Cuchulainn was left breathless as he stood before the woman.

She smiled faintly and closed her eyes again. "I feared I would never see you again," she said softly. "Now, I know that at least in my dreams, I will see you." Then, as quickly as she had appeared, she disappeared, leaving Cuchulainn standing in that field with his heart pounding in his chest. When he woke the next morning, he knew what had happened and who he was. Now, the next task was how to raise himself up like he had in the past.


	11. Chapter Ten

_**A/N: rawr**_

_**Chapter Ten**_

Arturia seemed to slowly go back to her usual routines. However, she seemed to be taking a few more naps than necessary. This worried Gwenivere deeply. Lancelot didn't seem to want to smile or talk with her either, which also worried her. What had transpired that had caused even the most gallant of the knights to lose interest in talking with her?

She saw Merlin's hand beckoning her from the hallway into his chambers. She looked around and realized must have wandered around a lot more than she had thought. She walked toward Merlin's chamber and walked into it when the door opened for her. Inside, she gasped at the array of materials and metals and various strange objects in just the small main room he used as his office. There were small metal gadgets that ran on steam, puffing occasionally to let out some steam. There were bottles of various things that looked more like witches' ingredients rather than a wiseman's study materials. She knew he was a wizard, but had never seen just how deeply into his wizardry he was.

"What sorcery is all this?" she asked, turning to look at Merlin. His shoulder length blonde hair was graying more so than it had in the past. He was old, she knew, but she didn't know just how old he was.

"Most of it," he said with a faint smile, "is simply the tools of the trade. Potions ingredients, spell books, guides on animals and faery folk, and my wand, which I keep hidden. If I need a bigger bang, I usually use my staff, which is easier to replace than my wand, I'm afraid."

"Why.. why did you bring me in here?" asked Gwenivere, suddenly afraid.

"Something has occurred that I have not been able to foresee," said Merlin softly. He walked over to his desk and opened a drawer, pulling out a phial of some sort filled with a black potion. "I'm afraid… you must give this to Arturia. It won't harm her, you don't have to worry about that, but it'll kill anything living inside of her."

"What do you mean?" Gwenivere's heart pounded oddly in her chest as she gazed at Merlin. "What could be living inside of Arthur? Is it a demon? Should we not instead get Father Peter?"

"It was Father Peter who informed me of this," said Merlin. He moved around his desk and took off the long green and brown robe he was want to wear since he was younger. It had been a gift to him so long ago by the woman he could have called mother had she actually birthed him. His stature was fairly impressive, his tunic was of a deep, rich brown like the Earth and his belt black, all showing a broad shouldered man who at one time must have been a sight to behold in his youth, but now was content to hide that truth underneath a robe that was far too large for him so that he seemed far smaller in comparison.

"What is living inside her or what could be living in side her?" asked Gwenivere.

"We're not certain, but if something is it won't survive this," he said, holding up the black potion. "It won't harm Arturia, as I said, so don't worry about it harming her. However, if something is living inside her, then all of Camelot will be in jeopardy, not to mention Arturia herself."

Gwenivere was confused as to why Merlin seemed to insist upon calling Arturia by her proper name instead of the male name that he was want to use. Were his chambers so filled with magic that one could not hear through the very walls what he spoke? Gwenivere shook her head and balled her fists up at her sides. "I won't give it to her unless I know why it is I should," she said finally.

Gwenivere expected Merlin to become angry and shoot magic bolts at her or something, expected him to shout or intimidate her, but instead, when she opened her eyes, she saw a man who was very worried and very saddened. "I can not tell you why it is she needs it, Gwenivere," he said softly, almost whispering his words, "All I can say is it was caused by a foolhardy ghost who didn't think ahead before using dear Arturia."

A baby? Had Arturia's having sex with a ghost caused some form of demonic child that could potentially harm Arturia and Camelot? Another, more rational, though occurred to her; it had taken a great deal of Cuchulainn's energy to make himself solid for only a short period of time. He then disappeared for several weeks and then Arturia was found with her own blood and a man's seed on her thighs and bed covers. How could a ghost make himself solid for such a long period of time and how could he even perform such an act and ejaculate as he should when he had no body and no body fluids to ejaculate?

Gwenivere suddenly had a very sick feeling inside her stomach. Had the ghost used a man's body, a living man, to use as a vessel for his own spirit so he might love Arturia for that brief time? If so, who would he have chosen? A part of her remembered the look of Lancelot, as though he were being thrust into a deep mental and spiritual turmoil from some sort of experience he had acquired in that same time period. He was also similar in build and very handsome with long hair and only a little taller than the ghost himself. If this was indeed how things had played out, God was indeed allowing a cruel joke to be played upon them and that phial would indeed be needed to make certain a child was not growing inside that belly of the king.

Gwenivere took it and patted her face, her skin having gone white and cold. Merlin saw the change as soon as he had spoken, seen the wheels turning inside Gwenivere's mind and knew from the beginning that she was not as stupid as others might think of her. She thought things out and reasoned as a person should. Arturia, however, was more prone to impulsive behavior, seeing things in the light of being "a king's pride" or "a king's duty". She was also a woman pretending to be a man and having been brought up as a boy rather than a woman, she would indeed be far more curious about how a woman felt and how a woman loved as opposed to a man.

"I will give Arturia.. the phial," said Gwenivere softly. It pained her to think of it. A child was a precious thing and usually wanted. However, if Arturia were to become pregnant, it would be far more difficult to hide it from everyone else as well as the birth. Then, the child would either have to be discarded to another family or Gwenivere would have to have claimed she were pregnant all along and that would pain both Arturia and Lancelot more so than if they made certain something did not form in her womb at all. "Are you certain it will not harm her, nor will it make her sterile?" Another blow to Arturia's femininity that Gwenivere could not stomach; Arturia sterile was like ripping her womb out forcefully through her navel and waving it in front of her for a few taunting moments before pulling it away and shredding it in a meat grinder. It was a part of her real person and one thing she might not ever be able to use again, but it was still a part of her.

"Yes, I am certain she will be fine in all manner of ways, but it would kill anything inside her womb," he said. Gwenivere nodded and hide the phial in her bodice before leaving. "I'm sorry to have forced you to do such a thing, Gwenivere."

Gwenivere stopped in the doorway and started to turn, but looked away. "It is what is best, Merlin, and for that I am willing to do almost anything." Then, she walked out quickly, closing the door behind her.

* * *

Arturia opened her eyes and found herself in that same sunlit place that she had longed to see again. The red haired boy was near her and smiling faintly, though his appearance had changed slightly. No longer was his hair red, but the grand majority of it was bright blue and his eyes red. She reached a hand out to touch him, but he shied away from her. She blinked at him in confusion as he looked away from her pensively. "What is wrong, Cuchulainn?" she asked softly.

He had a strange instrument in his hand, something she had only seen Merlin play with. It looked like a small toy vehicle of sorts with wheels and enclosed with what would seem to be windows, but no sign of a hitch for horses. He was pushing it along carefully, or really nudging it with a stick. He didn't seem too particularly interested in it though. It was, after all, somewhat rusty. "Where did you find that? It looks very strange," she said.

"Aunt Mary said it's a horseless carriage," he said as he nudged it along with the stick. "I don't mind it, really. It's interesting, but it's not something I know." He looked up and pointed in toward the village he seemed to be living in. "In there, somewhere, they have a large structure of something like this, but most of it has disappeared and grown over with weeds. This was found in the ground not far from where we're sitting and Aunt Mary gave it to me."

She reached out to touch him again and this time made contact, stroking his hair gently in what she hoped was a comforting fashion. "Why are you so restless?"

Cuchulainn tapped the stick against the ground and looked up to the forest bordering the village. He scratched his chest and pointed over to it. "Over there, beyond that, is the fortress. In there they train boys into soldiers, but you have to be sixteen to join," he said. "I went over there and they wouldn't even look at me. Aunt Mary came after me and pulled me back home by my ear and scolded me for an hour about how I shouldn't go off on my own like that and worry her." He tapped the stick into the ground again idly and glared at the ground. "When I was a boy before, they allowed me in because I showed them what I could turn into when angry. I couldn't do that this time because Aunt Mary would have been in the path and innocent boys and young men were inside the gates. They would've killed me on sight and I wouldn't get much further."

"Times aren't the same as they were when you were a boy before, Cuchulainn," she said softly. "Humans grew into a great civilization, but then something terrible happened and everything is as you see it here. That was thousands of years ago when you were alive before."

Cuchulainn looked over at Arturia for a moment and smiled faintly. He took her hand and pulled it away from him gently before gazing at her. "You can't keep coming here, Arturia," he said softly. "You're king and for a moment I made you a woman, but you are still a king."

Arturia gazed at him, frowning faintly. He was right; for the past couple of weeks, she had been acting quite silly. If she looked more deeply into her behavior, it was like the love-sick girls in the town and within the castle. She had continuously been trying to sleep so that she might find herself in this sunlit place she found so peaceful so that she might see him, even if for a moment.

She straightened up against the tree and corrected the posture she had previously had, sitting up stiffly so she was somewhat taller than the boy next to her. How did such a small, stringy boy grow up to become such a tall, handsome hero? He smiled faintly at her as she corrected her posture and looked to him with a bit less dreamy look to her pretty face.

"You've been sorely neglected for so long," he said softly, gazing at her with gentle eyes. "You have never been a woman and to force you to be one has caused a great change in you. Now that you know that difference, know what it is like, could you be a king as you have been?"

Arturia looked at him in surprise. While he had been sitting there, she had forgotten that he was indeed likened to an adult trapped inside a child's body, but in all manner of respect, he was indeed a far different child to begin with. She thought about what he had said and looked out toward the village as the sound of children filtered into her hearing from a slight breeze. "No, I could never be quite the same as I had been before. You have shown me a feeling I had once found completely foreign and… I..."

"You love as a woman," he said.

"I love… as a woman," she finished, blushing faintly as she looked away from him. "I will still rule as I did before, but I still hold that truth inside me… I love you as a woman."

Cuchulainn grinned faintly and chuckled, looking away to the little toy "horseless carriage" that the elusive Aunt Mary had given him to occupy himself with. "I need to train myself again," he said after a moment. "For that, I will no longer see you here, but perhaps in my dreams, Arturia."

Arturia gazed at Cuchulainn and felt the need to embrace him, but felt she probably could not do such a thing now. After all, her spirit seemed to have been sent to this place, somewhere in Northern Ireland it seemed, and it gave her the chance to see Cuchulainn where he truly belonged.

"Perhaps, one day," she said softly, smiling faintly at him, "I will see the only knight I will ever need once more."

Cuchulainn turned sharply to look at her in surprise and then his handsome face split into a wide grin she had not seen in a long while. "Aye, one day you will, my king. One day you will."

The world seemed to melt around Arturia at that point. She looked up and then around as the world changed and she found herself sitting in her study with her face firmly planted against her paperwork. She sat up and groaned, rubbing her face with an ink-stained hand. She reached out and took a few good gulps of the water that was next to her and grimaced at the taste of it. She looked in it and a rather dark liquid in it. She looked down at the note next to it and saw Gwenivere's handwriting.

_Arthur,_

_Please take this potion, as I asked Merlin if perhaps you have been feeling unwell as of late. He said it's supposed to have some ingredients in it that will make you feel better and help stave off illness. _

_Love,_

_Gwenivere_

Arturia frowned at it faintly, but knew how much a worrier her queen could be. She drank the rest of the dark potion and gulped it down a little uneasily before she stood up and walked out of the study to the main chamber. There, seated on a sofa, was Lancelot, in his tunic and trousers and boots. He had his long hair pulled back into a braid behind his head so that it would be out of his way. He looked up as she entered and stood up to bow to her. "My king, are you well?"

"Yes, I am, Sir Lancelot. Is there a problem?" she asked.

"I… have a need to speak with you in private, my king," he said softly, his pale eyes almost penetrating hers to see anything he wanted to see in them. It made her feel very uneasy, but this was more Lancelot than when Cuchulainn had been in his body.

She nodded to him eventually and bade him to enter into the study. She sat down at her desk and offered a seat to him across from her as he closed the door. Lancelot sat down across from her and sat stiffly in the chair proffered to him. "What is it you wish to speak to me in private for, Sir Lancelot?"

"Do you love me?" he asked softly.

"Love? As a knight, I do," she said, frowning faintly at this line of questioning. He seemed relieved somewhat by her answer.

"Do you wish me to take the babe as my own?" he asked.

The thought of her possibly being pregnant struck her. She rubbed her belly and frowned as she looked away, her cheeks turning pink somewhat. "I doubt there will be a child simply from one time," she said.

"Oui, but what if you are pregnant, my lord," he said, stand up and kneeling down in front of her. He gently placed his hands upon hers and stroked them with his thumbs. "You did it because you wanted to know, to feel the one you loved most, but my body isn't that of your lover, my king. It is mine and mine alone. The seed that was shot inside your womb is not that of your lover, either, but mine. If you become pregnant, you might be found out more readily."

"I will hold out the belief that you have not formed a baby inside me for the time being," she said after a moment. "If I do become pregnant… I will then think about what we could do to deal with it. I could have Gwenivere pass it off as hers, but that would be unfair to her. I could give it to you and have you say it was the bastard of a woman you had as a lover a while back, and people would believe it and it would indeed be yours."

"A king needs an heir and Gwenivere has not produced one from you," he said softly. Indeed, he was a very handsome man and gentle. It made Arturia think she might like him as a man, if she did not find herself so tied and wholeheartedly loved and love another man whom she hoped that she would see again one day.

"A king indeed does need an heir… but the king himself should not be the one to produce it in his belly," she said softly, "Especially not from a moment of passion when one of his knights was being controlled by the very forceful spirit of an old legendary hero." She looked up at him and the message was clear. She doubted she was pregnant and if she was she would deal with it as she saw fit.

Lancelot nodded and moved away from Arturia, rubbing his chest idly. "If I might say, my king," he said as he looked away, "That my loyalty is… unshakable. I love my king and hope he lives a good long life, however… is it right to keep Gwenivere so tied to you when she herself might die a virgin, might die without having known the love of a man?"

Arturia looked away to her desk. His eyes at that moment were searching for something that she wished not to give up. A part of her felt angry to suggest that she would force Gwenivere to do anything she did not wish to do, but another part of her clung to the very idea of Gwenivere being at her side. It scared her now to think that Gwenivere might not be there forever.

Lancelot's gaze softened with sympathy. "You feel afraid of the thought that she might not be there. She has been there from almost the very beginning, much like Merlin, however, she is a woman like yourself and able to act as a woman while you can not."

Arturia remained silent before she stood up and walked toward him. "It is more likely I might die before she will, Sir Lancelot. When that day comes, I want you to take care of her."

Lancelot balked at this notion. If Arturia were to die, that meant Camelot might fall into unsavory hands and go to ruin. That was the last thing he wanted! "My lord, please remember you have Avalon and Excalibur. You won't die as easily as that!"

Arturia gazed up at him with a hard expression. "Swear by it, for I won't speak of this again," she said.

Lancelot sighed and bowed his head. "Oui, I shall do as my king bids of me." It wasn't entirely unwanted, though. He did love Gwenivere, but the thought of Gwenivere being "widowed" as it were was not a pleasant thought. He would much prefer if Arturia gave her up or he continued upon his vow to keep himself in check toward Gwenivere. He would not wish to betray his king, but this was making it far more difficult.

Then, he left. Arturia was left to herself as she rubbed her belly. She thought about what had occurred between her and Lancelot and wondered what to make of him. She hoped that she would not have a child by him and hoped that perhaps one day she might simply give the kingship to someone worthy, for she was beginning to feel unworthy of it simply because she had now the idea that she might be forcing a woman to be celibate by the appearance of a marriage that had never really occurred.


	12. Chapter Eleven

_**A/N: so here I am once more. Yaaaaaaaay… .o I think I added too much honey to this tea. Oh well, still not bad. Inko's white tea "hint 'o mint". **_

_**Chapter Eleven**_

Cuchulainn sat underneath that great tree and looked out at the village with a small smile. He had made his decision. That night, when his Aunt Mary was asleep and everyone in the village had gone to bed, he would leave for the Isle of Skye to seek out Sgatha. The woman was immortal and difficult to get rid of. He doubted that even with time having passed so much that she would be dead.

It was a quiet day with children running around doing either chores or playing. He saw one boy walk through that looked rather curious. It was the middle of summer and he was walking back into the village from what looked like it had been a long trip. His hair was brown and he had a pale olive complexion, his hair well kept, though a bit messy. His clothes were what caught his eye, however. He wore a white shirt that had buttons and no ties as was normal for the most part around, at least to him. The boy wore trousers that were of a dark gray color and had a tie that was duel colored, red and gold. He dragged behind him a trunk as what looked to be his father carried a couple of other bags behind him.

He stood up and walked after them, curious as to where this boy had come from. He caught up with one of the older boys who were working on the field next to the road leading into the village and pointed toward the boy and his dad. "That? Don't you know who you've seen all your life, Cuchulainn?" said the taller of the two boys, "that there is young Colin Finn. He leaves for the year to a school in Scotland that is very prestigious. The school house here doesn't even measure up to it."

"They say he's a wizard or a mage of some sort," said the other boy.

"They may say that, but I've seen nothing wrong with him," said the taller boy as he rolled his eyes and hit his brother's shoulder to get him back to work weeding the ground.

"He's wearing odd clothing," said Cuchulainn as he watched the pair disappear toward the northern end of the village. The housing there was relatively well kept, but wasn't a rich set of houses that the way they spoke of the school would suggest. If it were such a prestigious school, something that was of an anomaly to him in the first place, then wouldn't they be living further away in a much better house?

"Odd a bit, yeah," said the taller boy, who Cuchulainn was finally putting a name to. He had blonde hair that seemed to constantly fall in his handsome face, his skin tanned from working in the fields with his brother so long. "But not so much," said Jason as he looked to Collin and then back to Cuchulainn, "If you go over there, they all dress like that. Jeremy here has a set of good clothing that looks like that."

Cuchulainn frowned and rubbed his arm before he moved away from the boys and jogged along. He had not really paid much attention to his own look or the looks of others since his memories awoke inside his new body before. Girls around him wore similar clothing to what he knew. A girl walked by wearing a long skirt that went to her ankles and part of it was hiked up into her belt so that she might walk without tripping on it while she dealt with feeding some animals. The smithy wore a kilt that was wrapped around him, but had no extra length, his boots laced up to the knee and his shirt close fitting. The look of the people surrounding Cuchulainn's new home looked like a strange mashing of two different time periods, not unlike the people of Camelot he had seen while the part of him that was a hero had roamed about as a ghost.

He stopped when he saw his reflection in the glass window of a pub and moved closer to look at himself. His eyes were red once more, but there were still a few bits of his hair that had not changed to blue yet, but were on their way. He looked exactly like he had when he was ten.

"Lad, do you need something for your Aunt Mary?" asked a burly man who looked to be in his later thirties, his hair gold colored and his skin tanned from the sun. He grinned broadly at Cuchulainn and knelt down to him.

"No, I was just… I was looking at something," said Cuchulainn.

"Well, I have something for both of you. I picked it up earlier today and thought you two might make use of it," said the burly man. Cuchulainn thought for a moment about his name and came up with Mr. Evans. He walked into the pub and walked back out again with a large object wrapped up in cheese cloth. He winked at Cuchulainn and handed it to him. "It's a pheasant," said Mr. Evans, "Some fellow came over with some pheasants for sale and I had him slaughter it for me so you and Mary would have a real treat tonight for dinner."

"Do you fancy my aunt?" asked Cuchulainn, amused by the man's behavior.

Mr. Evan's cheeks went pink and he looked exactly like a little boy who had been found out that he liked the girl next door. He shuffled in his place and looked around to see if anyone was listening before leaning down to Cuchulainn. "Shh, don't tell anyone," said Mr. Evans in a whisper, "Not many around here think much of her, but I have since I first laid eyes on her, lad."

Cuchulainn grinned faintly and nodded to Mr. Evans. "I'll take it to her and tell her you bought it for her." Then, he ran off before Mr. Evans could say a word more. Inside his heart, he hoped that Mary would take to Mr. Evans and marry him, for he seemed like a good hearted man and that he would make the woman happy. It seemed to him that it was entirely too lonely for Mary to bring him up all on her own when he wasn't even her own son. While he welcomed her attentions as a mother, she wasn't and he knew it all too well.

He put the freshly killed pheasant on the table and looked around for his surrogate mother. He didn't find her inside the house, but knew she couldn't be far. He found Aunt Mary out in the garden weeding the vegetables. Cuchulainn walked over to her and picked up a trowel and began pulling weeds out beside her. It felt good to work with the ground sometimes, especially beside this strange, red haired she-wolf of a woman. She protected him and cared for him as her own with a ferocity he only rarely saw. He could recall when the soldiers at the fortress had turned him away. His eyes were already turning red and his hair blue, as it should look, and the men were saying such things as "he's little more than a demon's babe" and "he looks too small to even handle a shovel much less a sword". Aunt Mary had put herself in front of him and told them off for calling him such rude names and that he was far stronger and faster than any one of those men in the fortress. Then, of course, she grabbed him by the ear and tugged him back home, but still she defended him.

"What is bothering you, Cu?" she asked, glancing over at him with that pretty smile of hers.

Cuchulainn stopped and played with the trowel a moment before he looked over to her. "Why did you name me this name?" he said softly. He leaned back a little so that he wasn't so hunched over and watched her as she did the same. "Isn't it odd to name a child that when he's not proved himself worthy of a hero's name?"

Mary watched him for a moment, frowning faintly before she dug the trowel she had in her hand deep into the ground and sat up. "You have always had the strangest way of talking, Cu," she said, chuckling softly to herself, "I've always been amazed by it. You've hardly ever sounded or even played like a child, though you were very cute and child-like."

Cuchulainn smiled faintly and she took a hold of his chin gently in her gloved hand. "You've always had a faraway look in your eyes," she said with a small smile, her eyes almost twinkling, "You've always stared off to the sky and said that one day you were going to be a great hero or a great knight. You've always gone over to that old tree and sat there while other children ran from it, claiming that a faery would come and sleep under the tree and speak with you." She stroked his cheek and kissed his forehead before moving back from him. "I named you your name because it suited you," she said softly as he returned to her gardening, "Because you reminded me in that look and the very image of you is likened to that of Cuchulainn, the hound of Ulster. Indeed, you've been picked upon repeatedly for having that name, but I would wager he wouldn't mind if a boy like you honored his name as much as he did himself."

"Isn't he a legend?" asked Cuchulainn, watching her carefully.

"Aye, he's a legend, Cuchulainn," said Mary before she looked over at him again. "He's a legend to our people all over Ulster. He's a national hero because of how much he fought for that which he believed in and how he died standing and facing his foe instead of lying down and waiting for death. He wouldn't allow his body to be defiled by his foes and even took the head of one who tried, though he was already dead."

Cuchulainn smiled faintly as he watched Mary. She reminded him of a woman Cuchulainn had loved once. In some ways she reminded him of Emer, though she wasn't nearly as beautiful as Emer was physically, but mentally she was as sharp and sweet as Emer ever hoped to be. "It's said," she said softly after a moment of silence, "that my family comes from his line. Not a legitimate claim, mind you, given how often he liked to take a good strong country girl to bed with him, but it is said that my mother's family comes from his line."

Cuchulainn watched her as she stopped and wiped her forehead, looking off a bit, as though she could see some form of spirit in front of her. She smiled warmly and closed her eyes. "I suppose that is also why I named you that name, Cu," she said, "I suppose that is why I've always had a connection to the old stories of him. Just the thought that perhaps even I could be or my sons could be as great as that man... That makes me feel very happy." She looked over at him and shook her head. "But that is by no means a reason for you to suddenly go off and do as you please without my permission."

Cuchulainn now felt like a heel for plotting to leave that night, but he knew he could not continue living in this small village without the ability to train. The only things he would be able to do were help Aunt Mary around the village and the home and go to the school house, which he had been trying to avoid. He had not stepped foot inside it before, but had no desire to do so either. It would deter him from the real problem he had now and the teacher there would likely be very angry with him after a while for being so restless.

"Mr. Evans bought us a pheasant, Aunt Mary," he said with a smile.

Mary's cheek's pinked and she looked to Cuchulainn once more. "He did? Well, why did you not tell me before! Have you just come home? Did he say anything?"

Cuchulainn laughed as she bombarded him with questions before standing and walking toward the house. She followed after him, calling his name to come back, but he just ran into the house quickly to force her to chase him. When they entered the house, she went over to the pheasant and giggled girlishly before going around the kitchen to deal with the bird. "It'll be a late supper," she said, "But I think I can make this old clunker work for it."

Cuchulainn nodded and watched Mary work around the kitchen preparing the bird carefully, smiling faintly as he did so. If she was from his line, it would have been so long ago that the blood was far too thin to do anything with. She didn't have any of his looks, she didn't really have any of his mannerisms; she was simply Mary.

It was indeed a late dinner that they had. The pheasant was wonderful and the potatoes were good. The conversation was light, mostly Cuchulainn answering Mary's questions about Mr. Evans the pub owner. It was like this really was his old Ireland, his old Ulster, his old home again. He knew it wasn't, but for a while, whenever they had moments like this, it felt like home again.

When Mary sent Cuchulainn off to bed, he did not go to bed, but packed his things and waited for Mary to go to bed. She checked up on him a couple of times, always with a candle in hand and always with an odd look of worry upon her pretty face before she would retreat and close the door. When all went still inside the house, Cuchulainn then walked out of his room with the things he would need and a few things that gave him good memories and went into the kitchen. He packed some food to take with him and water before heading toward the door, but stopped when he heard light shuffling behind him.

He looked over his shoulder and saw Mary in her shift looking at him with a worried look upon her face. He smiled faintly at her and turned around, walking to her. He stopped just in front of her and put his pack down at his feet before looking up at her. "Why are you...?"

Cuchulainn smiled faintly up at Mary and took his hair tie out of his hair, offering it to her. She blinked at him in confusion as she looked at it and then him before realization dawned on her. He smiled more warmly and continued to hold it up to her. "Take it, Aunt Mary," he said softly, "And remember the boy you brought up as your own son."

Tears glittered in those normally happy eyes of hers, streaking her cheeks slowly as they trickled down them. She took the leather string and knelt down to him, hugging him. He hugged her and nuzzled against her, loving the welcoming warmth of her arms. "Thank you," he whispered.

He felt her tie his hair back with something and then place something cool and metallic around the tie in his hair. She pulled back after a moment and continued to look at him with the most amazed look he'd seen in a while, gasping into her hands and almost laughing as she looked at him happily. "My present to you, one I had made for you, but was going to give it to you on the birthday I gave you," she said, chuckling through her tears.

He touched the tie cover decoration encircling his ponytail and grinned faintly before looking up at her. "Thank you, Aunt Mary," he said, laughing joyfully.

She stroked his hair gently as she gazed at him and smiled faintly, sniffling slightly before wiping her eyes with her free hand. "Your hair is completely blue now," she said, "And your eyes are like a devil's once more."

"Aye, I had hoped it would all come back," he said, grinning faintly at her.

For a moment, they just gazed at each other, silent and not certain what to say. He started to pick up his pack and stopped when she spoke again. "Have you always known who you were?"

"No," he said, chuckling, "I didn't. In fact, it took a small miracle for me to find out who and where I was supposed to be… a miracle formed from my own stupidity and of my need to be with a woman I have fallen in love with."

"Listen to you, ten years old, almost eleven even, and talking about love," she said, giggling faintly into her hand. "I should've known the moment I found you under that tree that you were who you are. Instead, I simply knew that you were a gift and a special gift at that."

"You're a good mother, Aunt Mary," said Cuchulainn, "And I hope to come back one day and see you married to Mr. Evans." She blushed deeply as he chuckled at her. Then, he picked up his back and turned toward the door.

"Good luck and may Gods, God and the faeries favor you this night and all others, Cuchulainn," said Mary, smiling warmly as she pulled her hair back with the leather string he had given her, "And good bye, Hound of Ulster."

"Not to worry," he said to her as he grinned at her over his shoulder, "I'm a hero, after all!" Then, he laughed wildly and ran out the door and away from the house.

Mary stood back and hugged herself, smiling faintly at his back as she watched the boy who she had taken in and called her son run off to a destiny that only he could fulfill. "Good bye, Cuchulainn," she said quietly to herself, "I hope you find that woman you fell in love with when you grow older." Then, she walked back to her room and went back to bed.


	13. Chapter Twelve

_**A/N: hello all…. Lalalala nothing to say other than thank you for reading and telling me what you think, even if I will occasionally bite your head off for something or other. I don't usually mean to snap at you, but something in your comment likely set me off and I had to address it.**_

_**Also, look up Harvey Reid. His guitar and banjo are LOVE. Believe it! I'mma listening to Off to Adventure for the moment. XD**_

_**Chapter Twelve**_

The road east was a hard one to follow. Cuchulainn knew that the Isle of Skye was to the east and north, but he was already in the northern part of Ireland so that meant he would have to go east toward the ocean. With no true idea as to where the island really was and it having been thousands of years since the last time he went anywhere near it, Cuchulainn was in sore shape indeed to find the damned island.

He went through at least a couple of towns before he ran out of food and had to stop and work a field for an older man in order to get some money. Each time he had to stop, he would ask people where the Isle of Skye was located and each of the people would look at him like he was crazy. When he was alive long ago, people knew what the island was and where it was, but none went near it unless they wanted to be greeted with a great nasty boot to the face via a Scottish Amazon with black hair and a nasty disposition. Now, he was seemingly stuck for finding out if he was even going in the right direction.

Cuchulainn was in one small town, however, when something came to light. He was helping a man out with the repairing of a window when the old man living in the house looked up at Cuchulainn and smiled. "Are you the lad who wanted to know where the Isle of Skye was?" he asked.

Cuchulainn nodded and watched the man he was helping for instructions before looking back to the old man in his chair near Cuchulainn. "Aye, I was," said Cuchulainn.

"I haven't heard that name in forever," said the old man, chuckling. "I heard it as a boy when my mam was telling me tales from our country's history."

"Did she say where it was?" asked Cuchulainn.

"Oi. Lad. Keep your hands on the glass to keep it even, all right?"

Cuchulainn looked up at the worker he was helping and nodded, doing as he was told before looking back over to the old man sitting in his chair. The old man smiled again and nodded. "She said that the Isle of Man was once known as the Isle of Skye long long ago before even the ancients were around."

And that was that. Cuchulainn received some money from both the old man and the worker he was helping before going back on his journey; asking someone on the way out how to reach the Isle of Man. Cuchulainn thus made his way straight as he could to the ocean to find a ferry that would take him across to the island.

It didn't take him much longer to get to the ocean after that. He combed the shores until he found a ferry and rode it to the Isle of Man. That had been a surprise to him. Upon arrival, he found out that the Isle of Man was populated by people. Before, it had only been Sgatha, for they said it was a cursed island, but now it was populated by hundreds! It was unlikely he could ever find her in the mess of people _now_ and forget about _training_!

At the very least he could try to ask someone if they've even ever heard of a woman that either fit Sgatha's description or had her name. It was a stretch, a big one at that, but he had to try something. He wasn't going to get anywhere just by wandering the wilds of the island until he found something that resembled the little hut that Sgatha tended to live in. Wandering through the town he had been left off at, he stopped when he saw a strange shop owner that looked vaguely like a strange combination of his old lover Aife and Sgatha. She was tending a small jewelry shop as she yelled at a man in the back about orders. "I told you yesterday that you should do them, Robert," she yelled at the man, "And now the orders are late! Don't procrastinate all the fucking time!"

Cuchulainn felt as though he were pulled toward her and redirected himself toward the jewelry shop, walking into the building and looking around. All around him were an array of shiny silver and gold trinkets and bobbles, earrings, bracelets and necklaces and torques, armbands and circlets. The auburn haired woman that he had heard yelling through the door looked at him over the counter and blinked at him as though she didn't know what to make of him. "Well, aren't you a wee bit out of place. What's a lad like you doing on your own? A wee stringy thing like you shouldn't be out on your own, you'd kill yourself just by tripping."

Oh yes, if this was not a relative or descendent of Sgatha or Aife he would eat his shirt. He smiled his best, most charming smile before he leaned up on the counter to get a better vantage point to her. She backed off with a suspicious look upon her pretty face as she regarded him. "I wanted to know if you know anything about a woman named Sgatha," said Cuchulainn.

"Sgatha, you say? Aye, she's outside of the town, north into the mountains," said the woman, still eyeing him suspiciously. "What do you want to do with my great grandmother?"

"Surely, you can't be that old," said Cuchulainn, eyeing her once more to make sure.

"No," she said, glaring at him, "I call her that, on account that she's older than God and no one would believe that. How do you know her, boy?"

Cuchulainn smirked deviously and hopped back onto his feet from the counter. "So north and into the mountains, aye?"

"Wait a minute, you," said the woman. Cuchulainn didn't stand a chance. He attempted to evade capture, but, indeed, just like she predicted, his legs got tied up as he attempted to move away from her hand. She caught a hold of him and pulled him aside by his ear and leaned down to get a good look at him. She frowned for a moment and then gasped; standing up sharply away from him. "It's you!" she hissed at him.

"It's me?" he asked, eyeing her carefully.

"You're Cuchulainn," she hissed once more, trying to keep her tone down so the man in back wouldn't hear her, "I've heard about you since I was a little girl! My mother always told me about the great Cuchulainn and the connection he had with my ancestor. What are you doing here like that?"

"Not for me to answer to you," he said, rubbing the ear that she pinched. She smacked him smartly on his head and pointed at the door.

"North and into the mountains," she said and then moved back; grabbing something from behind the counter inside what looked like a very thick metal box with a turning dial on it. She opened it up and pulled out something and moved quickly over to him, pinning a kilt pin to his shirt. It was a dog amongst a lot of knots. "Keep this with you. It's yours and she'll recognize it as yours."

"I would think just by my looks alone she'd recognize me, miss," he grumbled.

She once more smacked him smartly on his head and shoved him toward the door. "Don't let my husband back there see you on your way out. He has a window in his work room and he will see you if you walk out directly past, all right?"

"Why not? I'm just a child," said Cuchulainn, clearly confused.

"That pin is old and is an heirloom that's been passed down through the generations. He knows this and will likely think you a thief or something if he sees you with it. Now go! I'll distract him from his work room as you leave," said the woman.

"May I have your name then?" he asked, leaning closer.

"Isla," she said, smiling at him before mussing his hand and gently shoving him out the door.

He waited near the door as he heard Isla call for her husband's attention before running past the window where his work room was located and north toward the mountains. It was a hard trek to forge and he had forgotten to get provisions in the town. However, he was intrigued by the pin on his chest. She had said it was his, but he did not recall such a thing being made for him. As he touched it, the red eye of the dog glimmered slightly and he thought about when it could have been made for him.

When he walked into another village, he got provisions and bedded down outside the town in a nice soft patch of grass, keeping the pin concealed away where no one could see it and think they could steal it from him. Indeed, he had at least once found himself being followed by a very suspicious man, but out ran the man when the man had attempted to catch him. Eventually, he was in the mountains and looking up at the green covered mountains with some trepidation. She had said that Sgatha was in the mountains, but he could not see where, nor did he exactly know where.

"Are you looking for something, son?" asked an older man not far from him as he stood staring at the daunting mountain range before him. He turned to see who was talking and found himself looking at a priest, just like Father Peter.

"Ah, just wondering how far into those hills there should I go before I find a woman I must speak to," he said as he indicated the mountains.

"A young boy like you shouldn't be wandering around on your own, especially in those mountains. They say they're cursed, you know," said the priest as he crossed himself. "I've heard that a witch lives in them and that she has been living there since before this island became inhabited."

Cuchulainn eyed the priest warily before looking up at the mountains, his face now set in determination. "Do you know where she is then?"

"Child! You should not go in there!" cried the priest, "It is suicide!"

"I asked a question."

The priest sighed and threw his hands up before regarding Cuchulainn with a more serious face. "I can not, in good conscience, allow you to go up into those mountains without someone to guide you. If you will wait, I will go fetch someone who might help you into the mountains, but I can't guarantee he will stay around."

"Don't bother." With that, Cuchulainn trudged on toward the mountains with the priest yelling at his back.

"You're too foolish, child! Come back!"

Eventually, the priest's words died away as he made his way up into the first of the large hills. As he walked along, he sang songs he used to sing back when he was alive before, but the words had died away long ago in his memory, leaving little more than the tune itself. When that became cumbersome, he simply hummed the tune until that too made him short of breath. He kept going up and further up into the first of the mountains with nothing to guide him. That is, until he felt something grow very hot against his stomach where he kept the pin that Isla had given him inside his shirt.

"Ow!" cried Cuchulainn as he pulled the thing out of his shirt and looked at it. The eye of the beast was glowing brilliant red and seemed to be pointing someplace inside the mountains. He pinned the thing to his chest and followed the beam of light to wherever it was leading him. He climbed, he walked, he ran and jumped across holes; each time the beam would keep pointing toward whatever goal it was leading him to.

Then, as he climbed up onto a cliff side and pulled himself to safety, he found himself staring at a small cottage with horses in a stable and a chariot next to it. He laughed and whooped in joy, hopping up and down in his joy to have finally reached his target and ran the rest of the way up to the door. When he reached the door, he rapped upon it and looked around. Indeed, he was in a high up place and the air was thinner than on the ground, making it harder for his smaller lungs to breathe.

The door opened eventually and there stood the one face he had been dying to see since the men at the fortress had sent him away with Aunt Mary. A very tall Amazon of a woman stood at the door and glared down at him with dark eyes. Her skin was a little tanned and her hair was black, pulled back in a thick braid behind her head and down her back. He grinned up at her happily and held up the pin. "Isla sent me," he said, figuring that he had to say that to get her trust.

Oh how wrong he was. A boot to his head sent him flying backward and sprawling over the ground. Disoriented, he stumbled around trying to find his bearings, but he felt her hand close around on his shirt and pull him up to her level. "You stole that, didn't you, boy," she said angrily.

When his head stopped spinning, he focused on Sgatha and groaned. "Sgatha, is that any way to treat a kid?"

"Do you want another boot to the head?"

So, that line of reasoning didn't seem to work. He supposed that the direct approach was the only way to win this without having his brain scrambled by this former teacher of his. "My name is Cuchulainn, in case you've forgotten, Sgatha," he said loudly, to get her attention.

Sgatha looked as though she were going to say something and stopped, eyeing him carefully before she put him back on his feet. She reached down and picked up the pin he had dropped and looked at it. "You, why are you back from the dead and standing before me as a child?"

"I need your help," he said, rubbing his neck and coughing.

"The great Cuchulainn needs help from his old teacher again? How is that possible? Never mind that, how is it possible you are in this form?" said Sgatha, grunting as she put her fists on her very nicely shaped hips.

Cuchulainn looked up at her defiantly and stood his ground as well as he could, though compared to her he was a shrimp at the moment. "I was reborn and I have regained my memories."

Sgatha's face softened a little before she kneeled down and took a close look at him. "If you have regained your memories, Cuchulainn, then why are you coming to me?"

Cuchulainn sighed and ruffled his hair in frustration, looking away from her a moment before looking back into her dark eyes. "I was reborn and regained my memories, Sgatha, but I doubt my body can do the same things without training up again. For that, Sgatha, I **need** you to raise me up like you did so long ago. I want to learn the art of war and combat. No, I need to learn it for the sake of going back with the skills I once had and strength and speed I once had when I was a teenager."

"Have something important to do?" she asked as she raised an eyebrow.

"Aye, I do," he said, smirking faintly at her, "And her name is Arturia."

"You do know how to pick the more important people, don't you, lad?" She smirked faintly and stood up again before offering her hand to him. He blinked at her a moment before he took her hand, then had to hang on tightly as she walked toward her cottage; picking up his pack on the way inside the little house. "Then, I will raise you up as I did before," she said, looking over her shoulder at him as she closed the door behind her. He blinked a moment and then grinned at her, laughing. This was definitely going to be a several year journey, but he was going to be coming out better than he had before!


	14. Chapter Thirteen

_**A/N: I got my T-shirt! I am now the owner of a gray T-shirt that has emblazoned across my chest "i am the kwisatz haderach" with a little earthworm inching along underneath it. XD And for those of you who don't know what that is just look up Dune, spice malange, and kwisatz haderach on wikipedia. The joke will actually become funny to you if you do. **_

_**Also, my computer did something funk and changed the appearance of my windows to that of XP instead of my usual Windows 98 look when I rebooted it. So, I decided to play a bit and changed the look to Windows 98 with a rose colored look. So far, it's working nicely for me. :3 It's pretty and pink and happy. :3**_

_**Chapter Thirteen**_

Arturia looked out across a land foreign to her. It was green and mountainous with ocean all around. She was on an island she did not recognize and that unnerved her. The wind whipped around her body and made her skirts flap around her legs crazily. She turned around and looked to see what was behind her on the edge and found a cottage with the lights on and a fireplace lit up inside; seeing the smoke curl up lazily out of the rock chimney. This was an old house; one at least a few hundred years old, but the roof was brand new and so were the windows and doors.

She walked closer and found two people working in the kitchen, one a boy with spiked blue hair and a ponytail and the other a very tall and beautiful woman with long black hair that was pulled back in a long plait. The boy Arturia recognized as Cuchulainn, but the woman she did not recognize. She did, however, feel that the woman was very important, for Cuchulainn had said he would go off to train himself back to the way he was before he died.

Cuchulainn had flower on his face and looked as though the woman was instructing him on how to cook, but whatever it was that he was making blew up in his face and left food and pastry all over him. He laughed and licked some off his cheek as the black haired woman shook her head and sighed. Arturia could hardly find any of this as being training for a warrior, but then even a warrior needed to know how to cook to survive alone.

She moved closer and stopped when the boy looked up at her and smiled warmly. He winked at her and walked out of the kitchen, the black haired woman looking up after he walked out and eyeing her carefully. The door to the cottage opened and closed quickly and Arturia looked around the corner of the house to see Cuchulainn jogging up to her.

"I see you found me," he said, laughing as he continued to wipe food and pastry off his face.

"Where… am I?" asked Arturia as she glanced around. "This place is so high up and the wind so strong… how did you get up here all by yourself?"

"I'm Cuchulainn, I always find a way," he said, laughing once more. "Sgatha was trying to teach me how to make a pie, but it blew up on me."

"That's another thing," said Arturia, frowning more in her confusion, "Why are you baking when you should be learning how to fight?"

Cuchulainn eyed her for a moment and Arturia noticed he had grown slightly taller than her now, a small smile plastered on his face. "You're of the school that learning how to fight and how to be something should be done in a strict manner, learning things in the toughest possible ways. Sgatha taught Ferdia and I in terrible ways long ago, just the way you would imagine, but I think the years have forced her to soften. That and I'm also too small to bully around right now." He laughed and shook flower out of his hair, mussing it up even more than it was already. "Ah, besides, sometimes retraining yourself how to cook is a good way to learn essential skills, though I'm still not that good at it."

She gazed at him for a long moment and then bowed her head a moment before looking at him with a warm smile. "I see, Cuchulainn," she said softly.

Then, he moved to her and kissed her gently, though she barely felt it upon her lips. He moved back and his cheeks were brilliant pink as he grinned at her. She stared at him in surprise and touched her lips as he chuckled. "That's to remember me by, should you not see me for a long time. Do me a favor, Arturia, and keep close to Lancelot and Merlin. Gwenivere as well, if you can manage it. They will protect you. I have a feeling that if you don't something bad will happen to you or something will happen that will turn out for the worst in the future for you before I am able to come back to Camelot."

She nodded to him and smiled warmly toward him before curtsying to him. He blinked at her for a moment, unaccustomed to the motion coming from one who had been taught from birth to act like a boy. He smirked after a moment and awkwardly bowed down to her as though they were about to perform some formal dance at a ball. When he looked up, she was gone, as though the very wind that whipped around him had taken her away. He ran out to the cliff edge and put his hands up to his mouth to direct his voice as he shouted to the wind, "MAY WHATEVER GODS YOU BELIEVE IN BLESS YOU, WOMAN! YOU'LL NEED IT WHEN I COME AFTER YOU AGAIN!"

"Just what are you yelling at, Cuchulainn?" asked Sgatha from behind him.

He laughed and ruffled his hair again, his cheeks pink. "Ah, don't ask further, my teacher. Please?"

Sgatha nodded and walked back into the cottage as he followed after her; a smile firmly planted upon his face.

* * *

Arturia woke up and glanced around her bed chamber. It was night and Gwenivere was asleep right next to her, snoring softly into her pillow. Arturia gazed down at her and smiled faintly down at her before laying down again into the soft bed. When morning came, she found Gwenivere had risen before her and was already off doing whatever it was she did all day. Arturia dressed in her tunic and trousers and went off the way she normally did.

It wasn't until late afternoon when she walked into Merlin's chambers that something very strange happened. Merlin was standing at his desk and mulling over something there. Arturia had walked in after he had allowed her to and looked around. It had not been the first time she had ever seen his living quarters; in fact she had lived with him for a grand portion of her life, especially after her father died.

"What did you wish to see me for, Arthur?" asked Merlin before he turned to smile faintly at her. "Feeling well?"

"Ah, yes, I am, actually," she said and looked around. "I felt restless and wished to see my old master."

Merlin smiled a little before turning back to his potions and spells. "I received an interesting potion from my old teachers from my old school. One of them occasionally works with a pair of brothers, twins in fact, that run a joke shop and wanted me to refine it a bit before handing it to the pair to see what they can do with it as well as an ingredients list. They don't normally ask me to do such things, but it's apparently a little unstable still and it only started off as a sort of idea."

"You always talk so fondly of your school, Master Merlin," said Arturia as she moved closer, "Was it such a wonderful place?"

"Yes, it was. It's in Scotland where the grand majority of wizards in the islands live now. Some still living in England herself, but the grand majority stay up there where there are plenty of wizard villages for everyone to live in peaceably," he said softly, working on the ingredients list he had in front of him. "The school is an old castle that's been there for centuries; the teachers having been there before the great disaster."

Arturia stared at her old master incredulously. She knew wizards and witches could live a very long time and indeed did not age that quickly like normal humans, but to live for centuries was a feat even for a wizard! "How have they been living for five hundred years? How did they survive the great disaster?" A thought struck her. She had never been taught just what the great disaster was, but knew that whatever it was had caused the great civilization of humanity to be forced back to living as their ancestors had long ago. "Merlin, what exactly was the great disaster?"

"It was a number of things, really," said Merlin as he measured a strange green liquid. He stopped and looked up, staring into the phial as though it held the very history of the human race inside it. His face fell slightly as he frowned more and more at it. "Humans did many things to the Earth, but whatever they did was very little compared to what she did to herself. Humans had horseless carriages that ran on fuels found in the Earth; oils that were created by the organic material of animals and plants long dead and compacted through the centuries in the Earth herself. They had great flying machines that soared through the air at speeds you could never imagine. They could even fly right into space with very little difficulty. A few did do that, as I recall. They came back down to Earth because there is no other place for them in this universe to survive on. They would have to leave the solar system our planet resides in and go a great distance to be able to find a decent planet to live on again. Consequently, they came back to an Earth they no longer recognized as their home."

"What happened?" Arturia sat down and gazed up at Merlin, giving him her utmost attention. It was like she was a child again and she was listening to a great bedtime story.

"The Earth spewed fire and rock in a part of the country America. You might have heard mention of it, for they do occasionally sail over here, but are mostly content to keep to themselves. They called this portion of land Yellowstone, a forest sitting on top of a melting pot waiting to blow apart. For years they had documented the changes inside the Earth under Yellowstone, but they were hard pressed to do anything about it. What could they do? It was going to blow and when it did it would take out a grand portion of their country. But that wasn't even the end of it there," said Merlin as he put the potion down and mixed it with something else. "The Earth blew apart and spewed its contents upon the people in the immediate area, but then the cloud of dust and debris that also issued forth from it spread through the air. It spread and spread until it almost covered the entire world, covering cities and animals and lands with a thick layer of ash. The areas not anywhere near were subjected to radical weather changes as the Earth cooled more and more."

He tapped a phial and watched it change color for a moment as Arturia leaned more closely toward him. "And then? What else happened?"

Merlin smiled faintly at her before going back to his potion. "Crops died, animals died, many humans scurried south to escape the disastrous materials and terrible weather. Some remained and made the best of a bad situation by trying to clean the ash away and trying to start their crops up again. It would have been fine, but even then more things issued forth that brought humanity to its knees."

"The conflicts in the middle east spread outward while everyone was recovering from the disaster in Yellowstone. The Arabs went through the world and started trying to force everyone to their religion, like they had long ago and thought the world would simply lie around and take it. Some nations did, but most did not. The English who had been spewing hate toward the Americans for attacking the Arabs now were faced with their own problem of dealing with the threat. The Americans continued to try to do their best to help. It turned into a very nasty mess that caused the world to join into one battle. Everyone bombed everyone else, a whole mess went south and then, when the smoke cleared, everyone realized what a terrible thing had been done. They each grabbed a hold of the Arab countries and tied them up into their own area so that they could not bother anyone else for a long time. They banned them from leaving their area, patrolled and took over several places so that the Arabs could not do the damage they once did. For once, in the longest time, the world had united against their common foe and won." Merlin smiled faintly and shrugged. "At least, that is my understanding of things, given that the woman who taught me all of this was an American that lived through it all."

"But how did we come to live this way?" asked Arturia, confused now.

"Time," said Merlin with a rueful smile. "Time and general social ills, but mostly Time." He put a potion into a small cauldron and stirred it thoughtfully. "From the terrible weather problems, the soured crops and livestock and the general disarray of things; people began to forget what it was like to live with things like electricity and machines. Oh some kept their machines working, using other forms of power, but the grand majority of people were unaccustomed to working without power and without machines. A good number died out from diseases that could have been prevented by the medicines that they had previously. However, because a lot of their materials and their technologies were taken out by the bomb raids and the attempts to invade and enslave, to force the people to convert to the Arab religion, as well as the volcano eruption, a great deal had been lost to them that could no longer retrieve through normal means. As a people, we all had to learn to live like our ancestors and the ones that helped us along were the historians, the forest workers, and in a lot of ways, the people who made it a sort of hobby to obsess over the 'medieval' time period. I think my teacher called them… the society of creative anachronism."

"The what?" said Arturia as she raised her eyebrows in curiosity.

"The Society for Creative Anachronism," said Merlin again. He sighed and waved her off dismissively. "Don't ask; I certainly didn't. Apparently, back when she was a young girl, this society had been around for the longest time and had made it almost a job to bring back such things as metal smelting and all sorts of things we use now. The historians had better uses I think, but the forest workers had the best uses. They taught others what to look for, what things were good to eat and the like. Eventually, things seemed to even out; the ash was cleared away and people could move back into these areas, but the winters were very harsh. Sometimes, they could be so harsh that the people would have to migrate south for the winter so that they could escape the terribly frigid and unlivable conditions."

"How do those teachers live so long?" asked Arturia.

"How? Generally speaking, they keep running into things that cause them to age backwards. Like the history teacher, she's got a son that bends time whenever he sneezes. It's nothing to be very proud about, since a lot of the time he can't control what's going to happen. It just happens and they deal with it as best they can. Consequently, they don't die because of this." He mixed two more potions together and put it into a phial, eyeing it. "Now, I wonder if it'll work or not…."

"Bends time when he sneezes?" asked Arturia, scrunching her nose up a bit before shaking her head. "The world of the wizard folk is very strange."

"Yes, it is, isn't it," chuckled Merlin. There was a knock at the door and Merlin said "come in", looking up just in time to see Gwenivere run the door right into Arturia. It was like it happened in slow motion, only Merlin couldn't even side step it. One moment Arturia was flying right into him, the next the potion fell right on her and then there was a giant cloud of smoke. "Argh! Arthur! Are you all right?"

He heard coughing; Gwenivere apologized profusely to Arturia and knelt down to help her up, but yelped in fright as she jerked back from her king. There, on the floor, was a man with long blonde hair and looked like he had out grown his clothes a little. Merlin snapped to and pulled Arturia up, but found that she had in fact turned into a man.

"What happened?" asked Arturia as she stood up. She gasped and put a hand to her throat before looking up at Merlin in fear, the next moment she was looking very angry. "What happened to me, Merlin? What have you done?"

Merlin rubbed his head and put his robe on Arturia carefully. "You've changed into a man. I told you I was working on a potion for one of my teachers at the school. She said it was a bit unstable and asked if I might refine it a bit. Well, this is the desired result. It's a temporary gender change potion designed to be used as a sort of prank eventually."

Arturia glared at Merlin before looking away and rubbing her now very male face. She made a very handsome young man; Merlin had to admit, though it unnerved him to do so. Even Gwenivere seemed intrigued, though she blushed and moved away with a very fearful look upon her face. "Can we change her back?" asked Gwenivere quietly.

"Yes, Merlin, can you change me back?" asked Arturia, eyeing Merlin warily.

"I'll have to work on it and it might take a little while to do so, but I'm certain I can come up with an antidote eventually. It might take a couple of days, however," said Merlin before moving back over to his desk.

Arturia looked to Gwenivere and rubbed her chest carefully. "Are you all right with that, Gwenivere?"

"Yes," said Gwenivere, bowing her head to Arturia carefully, "it is all right with me, so long as Merlin snaps to it and gets an antidote finished." There was a sort of sweetness to her very snappish statement, giving rise to a belief in Merlin that the little woman was far more capable of making whatever torments that were running through her head possible without a care should he NOT comply.

At that moment, as Arturia and Gwenivere made their way toward their chambers, there was a clatter and a great deal of noise in the main hall as someone entered and people were greeted. "I haven't received notice of any nobles visiting," said Arturia as she looked out the nearest window. There was indeed a carriage outside bearing the coat of arms of Lord Lot, Morgan's husband.

"She must be visiting her sons," said Arturia as she gazed at the carriage and the coat of arms. Gwenivere gazed at Arturia's new male face and frowned deeply. She had long felt Morgan was not a good woman and that some of her sons were not as good as Arturia claimed them to be, but she kept her mouth shut to refrain from hurting Arturia's feelings.

Until now.

"Be wary of Morgan, Arthur," said Gwenivere as she patted Arturia's shoulder. Arturia looked at her in surprise as Gwenivere shook her head. "Be very wary of her, Arthur. I have a feeling all is not what it seems with her."

Arturia pulled the robe off and walked off to change her clothes, leaving Gwenivere by the window. She could only hope that Arturia's stubborn pride wasn't going to be her downfall in this situation. She had managed to help thwart a potential danger before, but this time Arturia would have to do it, for she felt something was going to happen to Arturia other than her body having changed to that of a man.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

_**A/N: great job on the protests, anon! I would've joined the Austin protest, but I'm in Bastrop with no car to use. TT Anyway, I'm supporting you all the way! I was so pissed off that KXAN only did a 20 second spot on anonymous and that's IT. **_

_**Anonymous got into the UT Daily Texan paper!! WOO!**_

_**Chapter Fourteen**_

Gawain watched his mother from afar. His brothers Gaheris, Gareth and Agravaine all seemed to flock toward her when they saw her, but Gawain did not. He loved his mother, yes, but the woman had never looked upon him very favorably ever since he seemed to show more of a preference toward independent thought than follow her orders. Gareth showed a little of this, but was still young enough to look upon their mother with the eyes of a loving son.

Morgan flicked her dark eyes toward Gawain and eyed him carefully. She smiled coldly at him and held her leather gloved hand toward Gawain. "Gawain, why don't you great your mother as your brothers have?"

Gawain, seeing the look of suspicion in his brothers' faces, walked forward and took a hold of his mother's hand and moved closer to hug her. It was a brief hug that was separated quickly as Gawain smiled at Morgan in his usual cheerful manner. Gareth smiled at Gawain for this and seemed happy once more. Gaheris, however, glared at Gawain coldly before turning back to Morgan with a charming smile. "Mother, things have been very interesting here," said Gaheris, "Sir Lancelot has been challenged to fight Gawain by the soldiers. They wish to see Gawain fight the famed French knight."

"Indeed? Are you frightened, Gawain? I've heard tale that this knight you have in your ranks bests even Sir Bedivere," said Morgan, cold smile in place. She was just as he had remembered of her. She was beautiful, yes, but she was always cold to look upon. Her black hair and her dark eyes always reminded him of the chill of night in combination with her pale skin. The smile she always gave them, especially him, was one that could freeze a man to the very marrow.

"I will be fine. It is a friendly and informative battle between comrades," said Gawain, smiling at his mother brightly.

"What is this commotion?"

Gawain had to turn around to see who the new, unfamiliar voice belonged to. What he saw, however, was a strange sight. Arturia, as usual, was covered in a veil of magic, a net of spider web like strands of bright magic strewn about her person that almost obscured her from his vision because of them. However, what was more disturbing was that now she no longer looked like a small woman with a net over her, but a man who was a bit taller. When she looked up at him, he saw a clear look in what he could make out of her eyes that said "I will explain later."

Gawain cleared his throat and smiled brightly at Arturia before turning toward his mother. "Ah, mother came to greet us. She had apparently sent word to Gaheris and Agravaine, but not to you. For this I apologize, my king."

"That is unnecessary, Sir Gawain, you do not need to apologize. She is my sister, after all, and I welcome her into my home as a brother should," said Arturia, offering her hand to Morgan.

Morgan seemed to be thinking and debating heavily while Arturia had been speaking and had only snapped out of it when Arturia offered her hand toward Morgan. "Oh, yes, I, too, apologize for my sudden appearance, but I had heard that Gawain would be fighting Sir Lancelot and wished to see my child battle such an outstanding foreign knight." Then, she took Arturia's hand and bowed to Arturia in a very lady-like manner before releasing it quickly and folding her hands in front of her.

"Indeed, it will be a nice spectacle, that is for certain," said Arturia, flicking her gaze toward Gawain before looking back to Morgan. "Please, if you will be patient, I will have a room set up for you, so that you might rest a while and enjoy the bounty of Camelot."

And that was that. Morgan followed her son Gareth to see his wife while Arturia gave orders to one of the servants. Gawain followed Arturia until they were safe inside her chambers, where she turned to him and nodded to him. "I am a man, a true man now," she said, her new male voice lower than her own. "It was an accident with one of Merlin's potions. He is currently working on making an antidote. In the mean time, I will be as everyone sees me."

"Then, why do I still see a veil of magic around you? You're covered in it," said Gawain.

"That may be the potion you see at work, Gawain," she said.

Gawain nodded and took note of that. It may be useful to him in the future to remember that potions could create the same net of magic upon a person like a spell could. "I see. I agree, uncle," he said softly.

Arturia looked to the fireplace, the male features of her new body very fine indeed. As a young woman she was beautiful, but as a young man she was almost breathtakingly handsome. He was certain Gwenivere might take advantage of this new development, but the idea that Arturia was still a woman might not make that possible.

"What if I stayed as this?" asked Arturia softly. "I would no longer need to wear the magic veil Merlin casts on me every day. I would no longer need to hide. I would be a male through and through and could provide Gwenivere with a child."

"But, you are a woman," said Gawain. He shook his head and walked over to her, placing a hand on her head like he would Galahad. "You'll still be hiding behind another visage if you stay like this. After all, you are… in all senses of the word… a woman. You have felt love as one and have made love as one. Don't ignore that."

Arturia rubbed her arm before looking up at Gawain, smiling very faintly and bowing her head. "Thank you, Sir Gawain, for your advice. It is very sound and I appreciate it."

Gawain nodded and walked out, rubbing his face with a small groan. He heard the faint whisper of skirts and looked around for the source, but found none. He frowned and walked on down the hall, his thoughts full to the brim of what problems lay ahead for his aunt.

* * *

The staff in his hand was a familiar feel, but one this new body of his was unaccustomed to. It felt a little like picking up riding a horse after you had not ridden one for a very long time. While you knew how to do it, you fumbled constantly with the horse's reigns and saddle, making both you and the horse uncomfortable all the while trying to ride it. He knew what the wooden pole meant in his hands, he knew the moves instinctively inside his mind and his body, but for some reason he kept landing on his ass every time he tried to perform any one of them.

"You are trying too hard, Cuchulainn," said Sgatha as she watched him critically. She walked over and put her hands on his arms, his hands and then his legs, pushing and pulling parts of him to get back into formation. He would have said something crude pertaining to this, but the thought of the woman kicking him in the head again was not a pleasant thought, not while he was busy trying to remember how to even jab a person with a pole. "There, now try again."

This time, instead of landing on his butt, Cuchulainn hit himself in the head with the pole. He gritted his teeth and rubbed his face where he had hurt himself before starting up again. He spun around and brought the pole with him to hit his invisible enemy behind him, but he tripped on his own feet and landed face first in the grass.

Sgatha rubbed her face and sighed before walking to his side. She crouched down and pulled him up by his hair and eyed him warily. "You are pushing yourself too hard, Cuchulainn. You're still young yet now, you should attempt to at least keep to that mindset and work with it. You're trying to do moves meant for a fighter who had already learned the basics of fighting before using them."

His hand, though small, wrapped around her wrist and gripped her so tightly she felt as though her very bones might break. She looked into his face and say the dangerous look she had only seen once in his youth. His eyes glowed slightly and his teeth grew sharp and his ears grew longer and pointy. Sgatha shoved his face immediately into the ground and attempted to hold him down thusly, but the pain on her wrist was growing worse.

"GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF, CUCHULAINN!" she cried out.

There was an immediate change in Cuchulainn when she screamed at him. He stiffened and groaned as his body stopped changing went back to normal. He was burning to the touch and was sweating horribly. She pulled his now weakened hand off her wrist and pulled him up to get a look at him. After brushing grass and dirt from his face, she moved some of his blue hair from his forehead and patted his cheek. She sort of remembered that when Cuchulainn had shown her this side of him that he immediately grew weak and almost sick afterward, especially when angry. She recalled him saying that it wasn't so when he was a small boy, but the older he got the more power went into changing and the more he changed into a great beast.

"Calm yourself, Cuchulainn and try again. Don't get frustrated to the point of change and don't let yourself lose your temper at me when I'm trying to get you learn," she said as she lightly slapped his cheek.

Cuchulainn groaned and moved to sit up on his own before pulling his knees up and leaning on them. Sgatha watched him carefully, idly stroking his hair. "Pushing your limits is fine, but you're still growing, lad. I have you until I have nothing left to teach you. That will be a long while yet."

Cuchulainn gazed at the grass for a moment before standing up again, picking up the pole. Sgatha stood as well and watched him carefully, wondering what he would do. He laughed and shook his head, tapping the pole into the ground idly. "You're right, my teacher," said Cuchulainn, "I am being foolish, but I am no child inside this body anymore than you are an old hag."

"You were never truly a child, as I recall," said Sgatha.

"No, I was never a child," he said. "I was always told I was strange, almost like I was expecting something to happen soon to me. As though I were going to discover any moment that I was something far greater than anyone expected." He looked over to Sgatha and the frustration was evident even behind that great smile of his. "They wouldn't take me, you know. They wouldn't take me in and train me up as I knew I was supposed to. You've never had a boy come to you for teaching, but young men and older. You've had men come to you and failed, but Ferdia and I were a great exception."

"This is an unusual situation," said Sgatha, nodding. The image of such a young version of the great hero looking to frustrated and angry, looking like an adult when he should have the naive look of a boy was a strange image to behold. It was still giving her a problem dealing with Cuchulainn when she saw the boy looking so determined to do things as he wanted and knowing that the boy was a man inside. "But you should not pressure yourself until you break," she said softly, "Or else you might do something that will harm you worse than you could imagine. Before when I trained you up, I wanted to see how far you were willing to go to learn the arts of war. Now, I know how far you are willing to go to be who you were before. I don't need you to prove anything to me. I only need you to be compliant and hard working when I ask you to be."

Then, she took the staff from him carefully and put her hand on his head once more. "We will start with basics, since your native soldiers are too pig headed to allow boys younger than sixteen to learn the basics of fighting."

Cuchulainn looked up at her with those big, red eyes of his and a part of her melted inside. They were the eyes hopeful eyes she hoped he would never regain ever again, for both in man and boy he resembled a little puppy. Her eye twitched reflexively and she walked away from him stiffly. "And you will get no where with that puppy-eyed look, hound, so smarten up and pick up one of these stick swords!"

Cuchulainn grinned broadly and laughed. "Yes, ma'am!" he called before he jogged over and did as she asked of him.

* * *

The duel was an interesting battle to watch. Sir Lancelot had only one weapon to him, but all around were any number of objects that he could use. Gawain, however, had only his sword to use. The two circling each other in the training ring with soldiers and knights alike watching from the sidelines. Morgan was down among her sons watching while Arturia was up on a stand where she and Gwenivere sat.

"Who do you think will win, Arthur?" asked Gwenivere, watching excitedly.

"Lancelot," said Arturia softly, only for Gwenivere to hear. Gwenivere looked at her questioningly and blushed brilliantly when she looked at Arturia's handsome male face.

"Why do you say that, my king?" asked Gwenivere as she looked away and regained her composure. It felt very wrong to feel that small amount of attraction when Gwenivere knew that the woman she was around all the time was only covered by a potion. The veil did not work on her, for she had grown accustomed to seeing beyond it. Now, there was no veil hiding Arturia's appearance.

Arturia gazed at the two men circling each other carefully in the ring, taking small jabs at each other to test the other's defenses. Her face was an assessing one, one that Gwenivere had seen only upon occasion. "Because Lancelot has a very specific talent that Gawain does not. Gawain, conversely, has a talent that no one but I know of. It, however, does not extend toward battle as far as I know."

"What is it?" asked Gwenivere.

Arturia flicked her eyes toward Gwenivere and then looked back to the duel. "I swore I would not tell anyone of it, Gwenivere," she said softly. "Besides, my sister is here."

That was all Gwenivere needed to hear, she knew how Morgan hated Arturia from the start, but could never figure out why, for even Arturia did not know. She looked to Morgan and saw the woman looking to them with those cold dark eyes of hers, feeling as though the woman knew something was wrong. Did she know that Arturia's current visage was a real one?

When Gwenivere looked back toward Arturia, Arturia was not there. She blinked and looked around frantically. She stood up and began going through the crowd for her king, but could not find him. Galahad, sweet natured Galahad, took hold of Gwenivere's elbows and gently pulled her away from the ring as Lancelot swung his great sword onto Gawain's. "My queen, what is bothering you so that you would run headlong into a fight?" he asked, his gentle blue eyes gazing into her own.

It took a moment to recognize Galahad with his tabard on and his face having formed more into a man than the last she had seen of him. When she found her voice, she calmed herself and nodded toward the chairs set up for Arturia and Gwenivere to watch the duel from. "Arthur," said Gwenivere, "He's gone. I can't find him anywhere. He was just there beside me."

"He probably went to relieve himself, my queen," said Galahad with an apologetic smile. "If you wish it, however, I will look for him."

"If you would, Galahad, I would appreciate it. I have a very terrible feeling something is wrong, but I can not put a name to it," she said, patting her bodice carefully.

Galahad nodded. "It is probably little more than his sudden disappearance that has troubled you, my lady, and nothing more. I'm certain he will come back to continue watching the fight." Then, he bowed to her and jogged off.

Gwenivere put a hand to her throat and rubbed it carefully, looking around once more to make certain she was not seeing things. After a moment, she walked back through the crowd of men to her seat and relaxed into it, albeit stiffly. Her anxiety didn't get any better as time wore on either. She could feel Morgan's eyes piercing right into her without even looking toward her. The battle was almost meaningless now as Gawain and Lancelot were holding their own against each other.

After a while, she saw Galahad back where he had been before and frowned. She moved to get up, but a hand stopped her. She looked over her shoulder to see Arturia sitting right next to her and looking at her as though she were mad. "What is wrong, Gwenivere?" she asked.

Gwenivere sat down and frowned deeply, confused as to what was happening. "I had thought you disappeared, Arthur," she said, "I looked to my right to see you gone. When I panicked, Galahad asked if he could help locate you and calm my mind, but I looked over and he looks as though he never moved from that spot in the first place."

"Indeed, he hasn't, Gwenivere," said Arturia as she smiled faintly toward her and let go of her hand. "He's been standing there this entire time, as have I."

Gwenivere narrowed her eyes suspiciously toward Arturia before realizing that Arturia wasn't joking. Indeed, the woman almost seemed incapable of joking, taking everything a little too literally at times. Gwenivere settled in her chair and felt the eyes of Morgan off her finally. She saw the reason why, as well. Gawain had fallen from exhaustion and several of the men were restraining Lancelot to keep him from going further. Lancelot's pale eyes were wild and strange as he tried to push through the men holding him back. He had gone berserk!

Gwenivere ran from her seat into the fray, pulling up Gawain's heavy sword and holding it up as Arturia ran up behind her. Arturia stopped as Gwenivere held the sword up to Lancelot's nose and panted heavily from fear and held the blade up to his level. "Lancelot du Lac! Respond or you shall be missing a nose this moment!" called Gwenivere.

"Gwenivere, stand away, this is no place for a woman to be," said Arturia as she pulled her own sword out of its scabbard.

Gwenivere's already frayed nerves shot from her statement. "Hush, my king, or I will do worse to you. I am queen and thus also in charge of these men as much as you!" she snarled before turning back to Lancelot.

Lancelot stared at Gwenivere in surprise, jewel blue eyes sharp and angry at his crazy behavior. Indeed, he had forgotten what had happened, though he suspected what it was that had occurred. The men, also, looked at Gwenivere in surprise and moved away from Lancelot when he calmed down. "Explain yourself, Sir Lancelot," said Arturia as she moved up from behind Gwenivere.

"My… my king," said Lancelot as he panted, dropping to his knees. "I… became so enthralled by the battle that I forgot myself," he said, "It has happened before and happens when I lose myself in the fight."

"You have a berserker rage," said Arthuria softly, almost muttering it under her breath. "I see, Lancelot," she said after a moment of silence, "Very well, but I will have to ask you to be more careful and to watch yourself more carefully. There is nothing more dangerous than a knight rushing in without a care for who is in front of him."

Lancelot bowed his head and nodded. "Yes, my lord."

Arturia then nodded to the other men and walked over to Gawain to see how he was doing. Gwenivere lowered the sword and stabbed it into the ground with some effort. It really was heavier than what she had held aloft before. Lancelot's gaze toward her was an apologetic one, one that made her heart calm and grew sad at the plight of the famous foreign knight who had gained everyone's trust by being the best. Now everyone knew what he had the capacity to turn into. There was also the nagging feeling that something was seriously amiss with Arturia and Galahad, but she could not figure what it could be. She finally figured she would think about it later when she was not shaking from the rush that was flowing through her body from putting herself into such a dangerous situation as she had. Arturia knew better than anyone that just because a woman was putting herself into such a situation that it did not mean that she could do nothing! But, as Gwenivere remembered, Arturia was posing as a man and was a man for the moment. This only served to spur on Gwenivere's hope that Merlin would come up with a potion soon to turn Arturia back.

* * *

When Morgan left to go back home, Arturia was still a man and growing more accustomed to it, much to Gwenivere's dismay. She marched right up to Merlin's room and opened his door to find him expecting her. He smiled as he beckoned her over and gave her a phial of yellow liquid. "It's ready. Just give this to Arthur later when you see him and all will be well again."

Gwenivere nodded and walked out, but stopped when a thought struck her. Merlin seemed to notice her hesitation and spoke before she could, "What is the matter, my lady?"

Gwenivere fingered the phial and thought very carefully on what was brewing inside her head. "Did you notice anything… out of the ordinary during the match?" she asked carefully.

Merlin was silent and gazed only at her back. The silence was unnerving her and she shook her head quickly. "I will give this to Arthur. Thank you, Merlin," she said quickly and walked out as fast as she could. Merlin frowned faintly as he watched Gwenivere leave before returning to his notes.

Later that evening, Gwenivere gave Arturia the potion and watched with joy as Arturia reclaimed her womanhood. Arturia looked a little uncomfortable, though it could be expected when the poor girl had been spending all that time as a man. It certainly made Gwenivere feel more comfortable now that Arturia no longer pleased her eyes like Lancelot.

While in bed, Arturia seemed a bit restless, which made Gwenivere frown and forget that she ought to sleep. After a while of feeling Arturia flip around on her side of the bed, Gwenivere sat up and looked down at Arturia; her long brown hair out of its usual braid and flowing over her back. "Arturia, what troubles you?" she asked softly.

Arturia stopped and lay on her back. She gazed up at the canopy and those blue-green eyes of hers were very troubled indeed. "Have you ever felt as though you have done something that made your very skin crawl, but you can not recall why?"

Gwenivere's heart felt as though it were going to stop. "Pardon?"

"I feel as though something crawled under my skin and is continuing to slither about under it all over me. I feel… disgusting," said Arturia as she sat up and pulled her sleeves up and examined her arms.

"When did you notice this?" asked Gwenivere.

"Just now, actually," said Arturia softly. She then turned to Gwenivere and rubbed her face. "Could it be that it's residual from the transformation?"

"Perhaps," said Gwenivere softly. This sounded very strange indeed, but made every flag inside her mind raise up. She would have to contemplate upon it before saying something, for what was in her mind was far more disturbing than anything she could ever have imagined before. Indeed, it might even be deemed traitorous, for it pointed toward the king's own sister. "Let us go to sleep, Arturia," said Gwenivere. Then, she wrapped her arms around Arturia carefully and pulled her down against her, holding her gently against herself. "Just sleep like this. I'll chase away whatever sickness makes you so uncomfortable," said Gwenivere with a gentle smile.

Arturia nodded and nuzzled against her before going to sleep. When she did, Gwenivere stayed up for a while longer, mulling over her thoughts. Indeed, without proof, she would be unable to prove anything. Until something happened, Gwenivere would have to be content to sit back and wait. Then, and only then, did she finally allow herself to drift off to sleep, still holding Arturia in her arms.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

_**A/N: aaaaaand I'm back. . I've got way too many stories to do, so ya'll be patient and I'll generally eventually get back to them. : D**_

_**So I've got two cats now. Papa brought home a couple weeks ago a little six week old kitten we named him Chewbacca, or Chewy for short, and then just a few days ago Papa brought home an older kitten named Jellybean that we renamed Blaze. I call her Swamp Thing because she has this really weird and funny purr that sounds like a horror movie sound effect, but I think that is do to her sinuses. The poor girl has allergies the same as Sylvester did. TT**_

_**Also discovered a game called Rohan. It's pretty nifty. **_

_**Chapter Fifteen**_

Days passed and Arturia seemed to go back to normal. Not one single incident occurred after that day. Soon, the days that Arturia spent as a man disappeared from the minds of those involved and daily life resumed. Weeks turned to months, months into years, and Arturia ruled as a good king should, conquering the other lands of Briton and bringing them into her kingdom.

"For far too long our kingdoms have become separated," she said as she spoke to a crowd in Longcaston toward the north of Camelot, "We must bring them together, as the old stories of Briton told. We must unite and become one Briton. I am the Arthur, King of the Britons, as told in the fairytales from long before the ancient ones lived. I am born again to bring peace once more to Briton and her peoples." Arturia smiled faintly, and once more, it was like the sun was coming out from behind the clouds as she did so. Bedivere watched as the crowd seemed to become entranced by Arturia's non-magic charm. Years had passed and the king had not grown into a man, but remained a boy as he had foretold would be the case. It mattered not, for he spoke and thought far beyond his years. However, Gwenivere was not privy to this spell that was on Arturia.

Gwenivere, though still young, had grown into a woman, only slightly taller than her husband now. Her face and body matured in the years that had followed her marrying her husband and, though they stayed together all that time, she had not born a child for the eternally young King. Gwenivere knew that the knights suspected that perhaps something was wrong, but they said nothing. Only Lancelot knew the truth of it, for he had witnessed his king's femininity first hand years prior due to a certain ghost of a man who was far stronger in spirit than anyone could have imagined a ghost to be.

As they headed back to Camelot the next day, Arturia rubbed her face warily. She felt stretched, spread thin, as though someone had spread her out over too much territory. She knew it must be the years of not growing catching up on her, but she could never give up Excalibur or Avalon. They were hers until Avalon could not heal her from death.

"Is something the matter, Arthur?" asked Gwenivere, accustomed to calling Arturia by her male pseudonym from when they were "married". She smiled warmly at Arturia from beyond the hood of her velvet cloak. Winter was coming to the land and soon snow would cover the area, though nothing as bad as the world had seen so long ago, just after the war had torn apart the nations of the world.

"I feel the strain of ruling," said Arturia calmly, assuming her royal posture once more. Gwenivere hated it when Arturia did that. It meant that the discussion was over and she wasn't going to say anymore. Perhaps it was because Arturia and Gwenivere were among the other knights, but Gwenivere had a feeling that being King also had something to do with it. The kingsword was a big part of it, she knew. Ever since taking Excalibur Arturia had ceased to act as a normal human might. Instead, she was King and that was all there was to her. The brief time that Cuchulainn had been around was the only time that Arturia showed any sort of humanity. Gwenivere never spoke of it, but she silently wished the ghostly rogue would appear again and sweep Arturia off to some fairytale land where she could stop being king and be a woman as she was meant to be. But, that dream would always be far away, for he had stopped coming long ago and Arturia had stopped dreaming of him.

Three days passed as they went home to Camelot in the south of Briton. Merlin greeted them all with a smile, his face showing age now, though not much. There were crinkles in the corners of his happy eyes and the lines of his smile showed on his cheeks more now than they used to. Lancelot walked in and greeted them as well, with Gawain boisterously laughing as he greeted Arturia and Gwenivere home. Camelot was as it had always been: a warm and welcome home to its king and queen.

The snows came and Camelot was readying itself for the Halloween season, something that made Merlin feel at home a great deal. He spoke often of how his school would be decked out for Halloween and Christmas and how the suits of armor would be enchanted to sing carols for Christmas whenever a student passed by, or pumpkins as large as a man's head would be carved and lit as they decorated the tables in the eating hall. Arturia enjoyed such tales a great deal and enjoyed the festivities a lot. Father Peter never seemed bothered by it either, though it was supposed to be a pagan practice from long ago. She supposed that perhaps he too had grown up with it and it made him feel like a child once more, much like Merlin.

Halloween night came and the hall was decorated as it had been in previous years. People enjoyed music and stories with masks on portraying devils and demons and angels and fairies as they enjoyed the meal presented to them. The nobles and the knights both enjoyed the festivities together. It was as though Christmas had come early.

Arturia sported a mask of a man, like Apollo, golden with blue and gold feathers and jewels while Gwenivere sported a mask of a fairy, green and violet plumage decorating its silver surface. On this night, while the winter season began and snow fell on the ground, a knock on the great doors sounded throughout the hall. The musicians didn't stop, nor did the dancing and laughter, but Arturia sent one of the servants to bring in whomever it was that wished to speak to the king. Perhaps it was Lord Charles, having changed his plans from seeing his mother on this night to coming late instead. His home was not so far away as the other nobles. Or, perhaps it was a set of children coming to greet the king and queen on Halloween before heading off to enjoy the night where mischief was rampant.

However, what came in was neither a bunch of children nor a man with his wife and younger daughters. A man walked toward the main table, his head and body concealed beneath a heavy cloak, though Arturia saw something far more disturbing to her body. It was as though the devil himself were peering at her from underneath the cloak; eyes of bright red with slitted pupils like a cat seemed to glow from the darkness of his heavy hood.

Arturia stood, but did not remove her mask. "I am King Arthur, sir. May I inquire as to who you are and what you wish to do here?"

The legs of the cloaked man were covered in heavy trousers, most likely to avoid the cold of the winter season; his boots were made of fine leather, but soaked from the snow fall. He did not move the cloak away from his head, as though he were some sort of leper afraid to show his face, though he seemed to carry no bandages on the hand that held the hood in place over his face. Indeed, his hand was gloved with fine leather, much like his boots. This was not a poor man before her, but neither was he of her court.

"I asked you who you are, sir," she said, getting impatient with his lack of identity. Something inside her knew this devil, this demon that came to them on Halloween as the spirits might.

The demon spoke, but his voice was most decidedly that of a man, a young man, probably no more than twenty. It was lyrical almost with how he spoke, a mesmerizing song in his voice as he spoke to her. "I am no one in particular," he said softly, a small laugh in his light tone. "I am no one you have met in the flesh, my king," he said. He was Irish that much was obvious by his accent.

"If I have not met you, good sir, in the flesh, then perhaps I have met you in spirit," said Arturia. If he was going to play a word game, then so would she. Such an irritant could prove entertaining if he did not take it too far.

"Aye, indeed, in spirit you have met me, but not in the flesh, for flesh was not mine until I was born," said the young man.

"Touché." Arturia eyed the man carefully. Surely she had met him before! Such wit was uncommon, especially toward a king that was not his own. "Pray, tell, are you a demon in the flesh of a man, then?"

"You've asked such a question before, my king, I think you should know the answer to that already," said the laughing voice of the Irishman.

Arturia twitched involuntarily at the man's insistence that she knew him. She could not for the life of her recall any such man to come to her before. She could not even recall calling a man a demon from his appearance as one, for she had never met a man that looked like one enough to make such a claim. It was all so dizzying inside her mind that she had to sit down. "I am growing weary of your playing, sir. If you do not speak your name or why you have come this night, then I will have to order you to leave."

"Perhaps giving him a place to stay the night would be a good idea, Arthur," said Gwenivere gently. "After all, you never know until he reveals himself if he is a prince or a pauper."

Arturia frowned in irritation as her queen was very correct in this assessment. If this was indeed a prince or king, or perhaps a nobleman, then he might report her as being inhospitable to newcomers. Or, it might be a wizard like Merlin, come to enjoy the festivities as his people seemed to enjoy this day the most. If so, angering such a man might incur a wrath Arturia was not quite ready to deal with.

"Very well, he may stay a night and enjoy the festivities of this holiday with us," said Arturia. With that, a maidservant showed the cloaked man to a chair nearby the fire where he could warm himself. Arturia disliked having a man around that she could not guess his identity, as she disliked hiding in general.

Arturia, from that moment on, refused to speak with the Irishman. The knights, however, especially Gawain, took to him immediately. The man was still covering his face with a great hood, but those devilish eyes of his continued to peer out from under it. He moved over to Gwenivere and offered a hand toward her and kissed her knuckles. Arturia eyed him coldly as he bowed with the grace of a fairy and moved in for a swift kiss to Gwenivere's cheeks in greeting. "My queen, you are as lovely as ever," he said, that same laughing tone still evident in his voice.

"And you, rogue, seem to think you know me," she said, chuckling.

"Aye, I do know you, though only a little, my queen," he said, gesturing around with his gloved hand so gracefully that Arturia felt they might belong to an inhuman warrior. "Perhaps I would be too forward in requesting a dance from the beautiful Queen of Camelot?"

"Nay, you may ask and I will fulfill this task," said Gwenivere, laughing now. She took his hand and he led her out away from the table and started to dance with her among the nobles already dancing.

The full hood on the man fully concealed his face, much like a mask, with a second hood from his cloak hiding the rest. With the cloak off, he still had the hood covering his face from all who would ask who he was. The only thing that could be seen were those red eyes. He twirled and danced with her to the music and, to all who watched, it was like a fairytale coming to life.

When the dance was over, the Irishman brought Gwenivere back to her seat and kissed her knuckles as he moved away; those eyes of his smirked for him like a Cheshire Cat. Arturia glared at him coolly and stood. "Indeed, you must be some dancer that has come by before?" she said.

"No dance have I ever attended when you were king," said the stranger, "For I would have assumed you a woman to dance with had I not known."

Arturia flushed. This man was surely jesting! "I am indeed a King of Knights, sir," she said carefully. "Perhaps a very well educated warrior, for you move like you were born to such movements."

"Aye, that is at least closer," said the Irishman, that voice laughing once more. "A warrior am I, from long ago and far away. Surely you must realize from where I come from by now, my king."

"Ireland, that much is for certain. The accent is a dead give away," said Arturia.

The man bowed with a flourish and something glinted from his simple cloak. It was silver and small, a knot of some sort with red eyes on a strange animal in the knot, though he moved and it was covered once more. "Aye, I am from Ireland, from the north to be exact. It is a land of proud heritage."

"A warrior of Ulster? How intriguing." Arturia sat back against her chair and eyed the man carefully. Ulster was a large region with an old heritage, though the region used to be located further south at one point in time. "I don't think I should believe a trickster such as you, however," said Arturia as she stood, "You've yet to reveal yourself to a king, a foreign king at that, and that I find untrustworthy."

"Aye, you would say that, wouldn't you," said the man, grunting in irritation. Arturia found the in she was looking for. This man was insulted that she found his behavior so irritating, but more to the point, he knew that would likely be her response.

"A warrior of Ulster come to the court of Camelot? Perhaps he's come to challenge the king to a friendly duel," said Gawain, grinning broadly.

"Actually, I wished to enjoy the company of the king and queen before requesting that perhaps you might assess my worthiness in your court as one of your knights as I have promised to do so long ago," said the man, straightening.

"To assess your abilities, the king or one of our better knights will have to fight you," said Bedivere, his soft voice somehow echoing. He flicked his eyes toward the man and fair glared at him with much irritation.

"I will fight him. It has been a while since I've fought a worthy opponent, though the snow outside prevents us from doing so," said Arturia, glaring coldly at the stranger.

"Then, perhaps we have a timed duel outside, for I would dislike harming your precious hall with such violence should we do it in here," said the man. "Five to ten minutes should be fine enough to learn who I am," said the man.

"I'd say you were mad," muttered Arturia with a grunt. She shook her head and walked out from behind the table, sword at her side as always. "Fine," she said softly, "Ten minutes and that is done. If I do not guess right, then you must reveal yourself to me, for I will not allow you to stay for any more length of time if I know nothing of you."

The man's gaze was intense as he stared at her. It was as though a sudden burst of bright fire lit up inside those demon eyes and forced her to start, though she covered it up well enough. Though, admittedly, without seeing the rest of his face, she could not tell whether it was hatred or something else that lit them up.

"You two are mad to go out in this weather," said Galahad.

"It's only a bit of snow," said Gawain, slapping Galahad on his shoulder. "Wait 'till Christmas. That is the time you should worry, or have you forgotten about the time you were caught out there in a blizzard."

"Apologies," said Galahad, coughing lightly to cover his slight embarrassment, "I did forget."

The snow was light and would likely melt most of the way by the morning. It was collecting in some areas of the battle ring as people moved out to watch the small battle take place between the strange Irishman and their king. The night was black save for a full moon overhead providing a strange mystical feel to the air around them. Arturia took off her mask and handed it to Gwenivere before she left so that she would not harm the mask that had been given to her as a gift by the local jeweler.

The man was loaned a sword by one of the knights and stood ready with the sword raised up toward Arturia. Arturia stopped when she started to draw Excalibur and frowned. The sword was guaranteed to be victorious; therefore it would have been unfair to fight the rogue with it. "Gawain, might I use your sword?" she asked.

"Certainly, cousin," said Gawain, grinning as he handed her the blade. It was about the same weight as Excalibur.

"Why change blades, king?" said the trickster.

"Because it would be unfair toward you if I used my own," said the king. "After all, you are not using the blade native to you, are you?"

"Good point."

Arturia smirked faintly. She'd at least won that small battle. Now to see how well the man's boasts were! They circled each other, neither one moving toward the other. The hooded man's arms were fully covered by a coat and revealed nothing of who he was. The men shouted and cheered their king on from the sidelines as the pair circled one another. Arturia sprang at the Irishman and moved back as he rolled her blade off his. He moved at her and she did the same to his blade. They continued until Arturia was very certain that this man was indeed as good as she was. He was her equal.

Gwenivere watched from the sidelines and frowned deeply. She knew who that man had to be, for she remembered him in great detail. But how could he have been able to become flesh? Had he managed to full possess a man? It made no sense to her why this man should be human once more when he was supposed to be dead.

Lancelot moved up beside her and put his cloak around her, pulling her closer to his side in the small crowd. Gwenivere looked up at him curiously. "And what are you doing to your queen?" she asked.

"Keeping my queen warm while her husband makes a fool of this fellow," said the French knight.

"Only one place could keep your queen warm and it is not here," said Gwenivere. She smirked faintly when she saw his cheeks flush. "Thank you for your comfort, Sir Lancelot," she said.

Lancelot eyed her carefully with his pale eyes. His rather large nose seemed more prominent now than it had in the past. Perhaps it was his age showing through after so many years. After all, Gwenivere hardly knew his actual age. She smiled faintly up at him and motioned for him to move downward toward her. He hesitated and looked around, wondering if anyone was watching them, before he moved down and she kissed his cheek. She beamed up at him. "I thank you for your warmth this cold night, Sir Lancelot," she whispered toward him.

Lancelot felt a pain in his chest as she smiled at him. He pulled off the cloak and wrapped it around her before bowing slightly toward her, lowering his head so he would not look her in the eye. "It is my duty to protect both my king and my queen, m'lady. It is a pleasure to give my queen anything she needs to be comfortable."

Gwenivere frowned sadly toward the gallant knight. Had she gone too far in her playing with the knight? Had either one of them crossed the line yet? Gwenivere shook her head slowly and nuzzled into the warmth of the cloak. The cloak smelled of him and it pulled hard at her heart to feel such longing for the man. She knew it would jeopardize Arturia's place as king should she continue, but for the life of her all she could think of these days was being in Lancelot's arms as a lover. To feel such coldness from him now made her so incredibly sad that she wanted to cry.

Lancelot left her there, walking away to let some of the chill of the air clear his head. This was not a time for such frivolity in his behavior toward his queen. He had to make certain that nothing closer than that could happen ever again and it pained his heart desperately to know he had to do it. The look of sadness in Gwenivere's eyes made his heart ache. He never wanted to see her so close to tears ever again, but he knew he might see it more often than he wanted should things continue.

The trickster and the king were huffing, their breath coming out in puffs of fog in front of their mouths. They were indeed equals on the battlefield. Had she used Excalibur, she would have won by now, for certain, but with both using weapons that were normal both showed that both were equal to the other. The contest was at a standstill as they both caught their breaths. The chill seemed all forgotten to them, as the workout from the fight kept them warm.

Arturia gazed at the trickster through her blonde bangs, blue-green eyes gazing heatedly at bright red demon eyes. "Have you guessed who I am, my king?" said the laughing voice of the trickster, though now it was strained from working so hard.

"If I win, you reveal yourself to me. If you win, you become my knight and you still reveal yourself to me. Either way, I will find out who you are," she said, a slight growl of irritation in her tone.

The man's eyes never left hers, leaving her feeling somewhat naked to him. It was a bizarre feeling that she really did not enjoy. "That isn't a fun way to play the game, you know. Winning by default sort of defeats the joy in a game." His tone dropped to a whisper, one that it seemed only she could hear from the shouting around them both. "Only you would come up with such a default win, little king, but then I suppose that's a part of your charm." His tone was a caressing one, one that almost made her feel hands drifting over her body in languid motions. Or, perhaps, that was a memory? No, she couldn't have remembered something like that! An ache started up deep inside her as she recalled one incident that she had vowed to forget: Lancelot with red eyes and a roguish grin.

She yelled out as she swung the great sword down on the man, forcing him backward. She charged at him head first, vowing to make this the end. The man tumbled, but moved away from her and came back around with the hilt, hitting her on the back of her head. Stars danced in front of her eyes as she dropped and rolled. The men who had been watching jumped at the ready to kill the man should she have been slain. However, she moved to get up, a bump forming where she had been hit. The man held his sword at her throat before she could fully stand and put a steadying hand on her shoulder, a gentle hand that she remembered all too well.

"I win," said the trickster, his voice now somewhat grim. "And now, I will reveal myself to you, my king, if you will make me a knight in your army."

Arturia gazed up at the trickster, panting heavily. "Y-yes. You are worthy of being one of my knights," she said slowly. She reached up and started to pull the mask off as he dropped the sword, but he beat her to it. He gripped the top of the hood and pulled it off his head, revealing a mass of blue hair, messy on top and long in the back. His face was younger than she remembered it. His face was beautiful, angular, with a straight nose and lips that she remembered too well being kissed by. His earrings were different, though. They were not the drops of silver she recalled, but small silver hoops in his earlobes, much like a woman would wear.

"Kneel to me," she said after she found she could stand again. He closed his eyes and did as she bade him to, dropping his knees in front of her and bowing his head down to her. She unsheathed Excalibur and placed the tip on one shoulder. "Your name, sir," she commanded softly.

"My name is Cuchulainn, my king," said Cuchulainn, "Named after the great hero of Ulster."

"Indeed, you have shown yourself to be just like that man," she said. "Cuchulainn, you have proven yourself worthy of being one of my knights. Please rise, Sir Cuchulainn and join their ranks," she said as she moved the tip of the sword to his other shoulder and moved it away from him.

Cuchulainn rose up, still wearing that somewhat grim expression on his face as he gazed at her with almost a great sadness whereas they had once been very heated before and during the battle. Gawain eyed Cuchulainn with a very faint smirk, grinning deviously on the inside. So the rogue had gained a body! Now, things might get very interesting indeed! But what did this bode for the kingdom?


	17. Chapter Sixteen

_**A/N: so yeah, lots of rain today. Way to make me feel uncomfortable for the win! : D**_

_**Anyway, not much going on other than that. Rohan's down for maintenance until 7 pacific time, supposedly, so I'm writing.**_

_**Chapter Sixteen**_

After that night, Arturia was flooded with the memories she suppressed within herself. She remembered vividly how Lancelot's hands were made to touch her and all because that hound wanted to love her in the flesh. Not that she minded, in fact she had desperately wanted it at that time, but now that he was back she had all those really uncomfortable feelings back again. She was female inside once more. She had gone through all those years, forgetting those feminine feelings, as a king of a land with a queen at her side. If it had come any faster at her, she would have suffered whiplash from it.

Lancelot, too, was suffering. Lancelot was now faced with the fiend that had taken over his body to be closer to the queen. He had rationalized it before, because he knew what it was like to want a woman so desperately that you would give anything to be near her in any way possible, but to make him do that with his king, though, a woman, still gave him that old shudder in his spine.

Gwenivere was the only that didn't seem too adverse to the new events, though Merlin also seemed to be as calm. The only real problem was that Arturia and Gwenivere had been deceiving the kingdom all along and that would be found out if Cuchulainn continued to get closer to Arturia. But, but, but… The idea of Arturia becoming more feminine, forgetting the kingship and just live as she should have always lived made Gwenivere's sentimental heart gleeful. For too long Arturia had been worrying Gwenivere non-stop. The old habits of Arturia's were coming back full force a year after Cuchulainn stopped appearing to Arturia. There was also something else that was nagging at the back of Gwenivere's head when she remembered those strange days before. There was something she forgot.

Gwenivere put it out of her mind when she saw Cuchulainn being fitted for the shiny Camelot armor. They didn't wear full suits of armor, preferring the mobility of having chain-mail and leather, and plates strapped to their parts to keep from getting killed. She recalled the saddened look upon his handsome features when he had had to reveal himself rather than her guess who he was. His face was placid as the armorer measured him and found the pieces to fit onto him.

"What weapon do you specialize in?" asked the armorer.

"Spear," said Cuchulainn softly, looking a bit bored now.

"Spear, eh? Not many pike men around that are a part of the knights," said the armorer as he fitted a shoulder piece.

"I'm not your average 'pike man'," said Cuchulainn, smirking faintly. His gaze moved over to Gwenivere and she blushed faintly, recalling how ardently he had kissed Arturia that one time. He smiled at her; a charming smile that she did not doubt would have melted any woman with less resolve and more desire for him than she. "Ah, I see the queen has come to see the new knight of Camelot."

"Indeed I have, sir knight," said Gwenivere as she moved into the armor chamber. Cuchulainn watched her with those red eyes, making her feel very uncomfortable suddenly. "Sir Cuchulainn," she said softly, "Mmm… Mr. Hurst, please leave us alone for a few minutes. I wish to speak to the knight alone."

The armorer nodded and obliged the queen, walking out silently and closing the door behind him. No doubt he was standing outside of it like a guard. The old armorer was a big burly man and was very loyal to the king and queen.

"And what does my queen wish of her newest knight?" said Cuchulainn as he crossed his arms in front of him, smirking somewhat at her.

"Arthur… has reverted back to himself from the time before," she said softly. "I had tried to keep it from happening, but my input did little good to him." The look of understanding coming across Cuchulainn's face made her smile a little. He knew what she was saying then. The smile faded as a grim look moved over his handsome young face and he crouched down much like his name sake and rubbed his face with a groan escaping his lips. "Yes, that is why he did not recognize you."

"He said that he would live like he should when last I saw him. I was but a boy, just coming to terms with what spirit was inside of me, but he had said he was going to be fine." Cuchulainn was clearly very angry at what had occurred.

Gwenivere frowned more and placed her gentle hands on his hunched shoulders. He stilled and seemed to calm at her touch. It was an effect she had on most everyone, man or woman or child. "Please calm yourself, Cuchulainn," she said softly, "It is not your fault, but you were admittedly gone for many years. In that time much has happened. Much has happened that forced the king out of Arthur. He's united a good portion of Briton together under his flag."

"There wasn't much I could have done. The men of Ulster wouldn't take me as soldier when I wanted to so I had to travel abroad to the Isle of Man to get any sort of reliable training." He chuckled softly and looked up at her. "No doubt you will likely see the fruits of that training come out of me on the battlefield, should you ever be able to watch."

Gwenivere smiled faintly down at Cuchulainn and kissed his forehead gently. "Do be careful. You aren't a ghost now and can not go about as you please anymore. Do be careful about how you approach our friend Arthur so that you do not… insult… the people around."

Cuchulainn gazed up at Gwenivere and smiled faintly, a gentle smile that she had never come across his face before. "Oi, what sort do you take me for, eh?"

Gwenivere chuckled and shoved him gently. "Just don't embarrass me or my king, Sir Cuchulainn. If you do, I'll have Lancelot exact his revenge on you for it."

"Now that is a scary thought," laughed the blue haired knight.

With that, the queen left Cuchulainn as the armorer walked back in to finish up his business. After Cuchulainn left, he walked the hallways that he had floated through so long ago. He felt odd, detached from the place he was. He felt he did not even belong inside his body, with a small part of him arguing constantly that the things he used to know were dead and gone long ago. He groaned as he held his head, leaning against the rock wall for support. The old argument had struck up inside his head once more and was getting more frequent.

He felt rather than saw the person standing near him. He knew that presence beyond anything else. "What are you doing standing about in the hallway? Shouldn't you be going to join Gawain on the battle ring?" Arturia's tone was cold, not flustered or happy, and not even angry.

Cuchulainn glared up at her, a bit pale from the sudden rush of confusion in his body and sweating a little from the effort of shutting it up. This was supposed to be HIS body, damn it! She gasped slightly, blue green eyes widening as they gazed at his. One eye was red, but the other had turned blue with a normal human pupil. "Are you well, Sir Cuchulainn?"

"Not in the least, my king," said Cuchulainn, grunting with the effort he had to put into straightening up. "If you'll excuse me," he said through his teeth.

Arturia's face softened with worry. The part he knew was buried deep inside; the Arturia he had touched those many years ago was surfacing as he stood near her. She frowned faintly. "Cuchulainn, if you are unwell, seek a doctor. You certainly don't look well. One of your eyes has changed color."

As soon as she said it, the blue eye filtered with red and the pupil changed. He smirked faintly at her. "Just a small difference of opinion, my king," he said softly.

"If you are trapping a person to use their body, I swear I will take your head this moment," she hissed at him harshly. "It would be a favor toward the man you possess."

"Alas, it is but my own body, but the boy I was before, am, comes out occasionally to argue that I am not of him, that nothing I do is of any consequence to him, my little king," he muttered toward her, now looking better than he did before. He gazed at her through his lashes, smirking faintly toward her with such a look that it made her cheeks heat. Damn him and his charming looks!

"You would do well to avoid me at all costs," she muttered. "Leave me be, for continuing in the vein you so wish to continue in will cost this country dearly." She looked away from him toward the floor to avoid looking at him, something she despised greatly. She didn't like not looking a person in the eye when she spoke to them, for she was king and a king was entitled to do such a thing.

He leaned closer, his breath warm on her ear and neck. That was the first time she had ever felt such warmth from him, to feel that he truly was alive beside her. "Afraid of what it would do to the country to know that they were led wonderfully by a woman? Or afraid that by being a woman you will lose this role you've given yourself to."

With that, he left her there, walking off down the hallway toward the stairs. Arturia took a deep breath and rubbed the skin where his breath tickled her. Damn him. Damn him for making her feel like the silly maidens sighing over the knights that spoke with them. Damn him for making her feel like the women in fairytales. Damn him for forcing out with his constant prodding the things she knew would jeopardize her position.

And worst of all, she enjoyed it a bit. She enjoyed the strange thrill in her chest when he looked at her, the memory of his ghostly form touching her. She growled at herself and steeled herself once more into the role given to her. She was king of Briton and by God she was going not indulge in any more of this foolishness.

* * *

Father Peter was an old man. As a wizard he had a long life, longer than any normal humans. Now, he was using a cane and seeing through a pair of spectacles constantly. Sister Francis was older now, perhaps in her fourties now. She was as sweet as ever, however. He smiled at her pleasantly and offered her a cup of his tea that he had in his teapot. She declined and went about speaking with a pair of maidens seeking her assistance in some matter. He didn't mind her not having tea with him anymore, though. She would when she felt like it and he would be glad of it.

A strange chill ran down his spine as though something unpleasant was going to thrust itself upon him. He looked around and saw the one person he had thought he would never see again. The face was younger, but there was no mistaking that man from anyone else.

"Hello, priest," said Cuchulainn.

"Hello, hound," said Father Peter. "Come to cause me more trouble?"

"No, came to see if the priest I enjoyed tormenting as much as I enjoyed tormenting his king was still alive," said Cuchulainn, grinning as he crouched down near Peter.

Peter grunted and coughed into a handkerchief. "As you can see, I'm still alive, thank you. Now, please leave this place and this country and go back to your own."

Cuchulainn snorted and sat down on the chair that was usually used by Francis when she had tea with him. He eyed Cuchulainn disdainfully. "The last time I dealt with you you were necking with the resident nun."

"And a fine neck she has," said Cuchulainn, sipping on some tea he had poured for himself. The tea was all right, though he preferred other things to it.

Peter grunted and looked away. "Why are you back? I thought you were dead."

Cuchulainn regarded Peter a moment before leaning back. It was then that Peter fully realized the situation at hand. Cuchulainn was wearing the same style of clothing that the knights of Camelot tended to wear. "I've joined the knights of Camelot, after battling with our King, that is."

Peter groaned and rubbed his face. This was going to prove to be an outright disaster! "You do realize that no matter how much time has passed that the king is still a king, correct?"

"Aye," said Cuchulainn. A smile spread across his face that was so gentle that Peter almost felt as though this was not the same man before him. "I'll not ruin our precious kingdom. The dream of the king is too great a thing for me to destroy it."

Peter put a hand to his chest. "Oh! My heart! You had better tell me now if you are joking, because if you aren't then this sudden fright you've given me is all for naught!"

Cuchulainn grunted and glared at Peter angrily. "I mean it. I've been spoken to by your queen and I would definitely not want to ruin our little king when what 'he' is doing is a wonderful idea."

"To unite Briton under one flag as in the days before the war?" asked Peter, eyeing him carefully.

"Aye. Ireland could learn such a thing from him. Ulster is fine on its own, but the others still war with one another. Ireland is not Ireland anymore. It's not my home any longer." Cuchulainn looked away, putting his feet up on the pew near him as he crossed his arms over his chest. "It's not been my home for a very long time."

Peter watched him and for the first time felt that the old rogue meant it. Camelot was home to him now. Perhaps being a ghost and being reborn had been a good thing for him, and, perhaps, his making Arturia love him would be a good thing as well. "Just don't fuck up, my lad," said Peter, smirking that old grin of his that he rarely got to use, "Don't fuck up the country and don't, under any circumstances, cause any worse trouble than you already have previously. Other than that, I assume you will do well swimmingly."

Cuchulainn looked to Peter in mild surprise and grinned broadly. "Aye, I'll remember that, priest. Thank you." With that, Cuchulainn stood up and walked out with a lighter step and a whistle on his lips.

Peter chuckled and then looked heavenward, shaking his head. "Oh, Father in Heaven, do forgive my small indulgences. It is but an old soldier cheering on another." He received no answer back, but that was fine. God, after all, didn't speak through words often.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

_**A/N: I love watching the live action Sailor Moon series. X3**_

_**I also absolutely adore this cinnamon mixture tea that I bought at the store. It said it was good for focusing your mind. Don't really care much about that, but the cinnamon is strong and I love it.**_

_**Chapter Seventeen**_

Arturia watched from afar as Cuchulainn fought in a mock battle with Lancelot. Both seemed hell bent on killing one another, but Arturia forbade such behavior from her men. However, it was intriguing to see who could best the other, for she knew that historically both men were unrivalled in their battle prowess, but Cuchulainn probably had more control over his battle rage than Lancelot could ever hope for. Cuchulainn's was a love of the challenge; Lancelot's was anger at being bested.

Arturia hardly knew why it was that she was hiding. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that she didn't want either man to notice her and stop their practice so soon. She deeply wished to see how well both men did. It certainly had nothing to do with how she enjoyed seeing Cuchulainn with full Camelot armor on and using that lance of his that she had read about so much in the stories of him. Most certainly not! That would be unseemly and very un-king like of her.

She saw Gwenivere also hiding not far off and biting her bottom lip in worry. Arturia felt a small amount of jealousy and possessiveness wash over her, but for what reason? After all, Gwenivere was probably simply worried that the two might kill each other in their little quarrel. That would be a bad thing for Arturia's army, after all. She couldn't afford to lose two very good knights if she could help it.

Before she could step out and take charge, both Gwenivere and Arturia gasped and hid closer to each other, watching. Both men were locked sword and spear. Gwenivere held onto Arturia's hands and blushed faintly. "Ah, Arthur, I did not notice—."

"Hush, Gwenivere," said Arturia softly and pulled her further away behind the shed wooden mock weapons they kept for training.

Gwenivere blinked at Arturia and hid a small smile as she eyed Arturia's flushed face, how determined she looked and her small fists balled up as she mentally seemed to be giving pointers to whomever it was she was watching. Cuchulainn's appearance had indeed been a welcome thing, for Arturia was becoming more like a girl than a man. It made Gwenivere feel a lot better that Arturia might indeed allow herself to be more of a woman than ignore everything about herself like she had for so long. Still, a small part of Gwenivere envied her friend for staying so young so long. However, Gwenivere wouldn't give anything for the responsibility that came with this eternal youth. No, Gwenivere was very happy to grow old and she hoped that perhaps one day Arturia might just let her go.

That was something Gwenivere had been thinking of for some time. While she did not mind taking care of Arturia, the wish for love from a man who cared for her as much as she did him became more of a need as she grew older. She would give Arturia everything she could, her land, her titles, everything, if she could just have everyone recognize Arturia as their queen and not their king and let Gwenivere slink off into the background where she could be married to someone she cared deeply about as a man and woman should. Arturia had had that chance before, now it was Gwenivere's turn to feel it. If only doing so would not count as treason against the one whom she kept all the secrets for.

"Bold words, bold moves and bold fighting," said Lancelot. "Is there nothing about you that is a hindrance to you?"

Cuchulainn grinned. "Wouldn't you like to know!" He shoved Lancelot backward and twisted away, his spear head down, but his stance ready.

"Oui! I would wish to know what it is that makes you go, what makes you so determined to win at everything!" said Lancelot as he took his own stance. Both men were panting from their heavy work out, but neither had landed a true blow to the other. Both were bruised and a couple of cuts had been drawn, but both were in good health otherwise.

The fight had started off simply enough. Lancelot wanted to get a little payback from Cuchulainn for using him that one time and causing him a lifetime of grief from it. However, his need for vengeance wasn't as dire enough to want the man dead, so a small battle would suffice to simply wound the smug bastard. Cuchulainn, however, was far harder to land a blow on than he had ever experienced. In the time he had been gone he had become living and had trained himself up to how he used to fight back when even the old ones were not alive.

However, all things have a weakness as well as something that drives them. He knew Cuchulainn loved the king. He also knew that Cuchulainn wasn't likely fool enough to outwardly pursue the king, although that was debatable. When Cuchulainn moved in close, Lancelot swung his blade around and caught the spear head with it once more, pulling him nearer. "Your foolishness before caused a great deal of grief, hound," said Lancelot. "What if your abusing my body had caused a baby to form inside our king?"

Cuchulainn stopped struggling and stared hard at Lancelot. The idea had not really struck him until Lancelot mentioned it, but that moment he had shared with Arturia, while using Lancelot's body, could have caused a baby to form. That made him suddenly feel very ill and he moved away sharply to recover his senses. The idea of Lancelot being the one to make Arturia pregnant made Cuchulainn want to kill something in decidedly unpleasant ways. Lancelot lowered his sword and watched after Cuchulainn as he took some deep breaths to calm himself.

"You had not thought of that, had you, oh hound of Ulster," said Lancelot softly. "Had you thought of it, you probably wouldn't have done that."

The sharp look from Cuchulainn caused a shiver to go up Lancelot's spine. He pointed his spear at Lancelot and glared at him angrily. "Don't," said Cuchulainn slowly, "Don't even begin to think you know what is inside my head, French knight. Even if the consequences had occurred, I would have still done it."

"Even if she's forgotten about you?"

Cuchulainn glowered at Lancelot. "I am under her authority now," said Cuchulainn dangerously, "Not yours."

"You haven't answered my question," said Lancelot, his face set like stone. "She forgot about you in that time. Would you have done such a foolish thing had you known she would forget all about it?"

This time Cuchulainn grinned, causing Lancelot to loosen up a little. "Indeed, she has forgotten hasn't she?" He looked away with those red eyes of his and tapped the end of his spear into the ground, eyeing the weapon shed carefully. "Then, I suppose I'll just have to make her remember. No woman deserves to be shoved into such a position with no relief."

The spear suddenly disappeared from Cuchulainn's hand into thin air. Lancelot started at the sudden show of whatever magic Cuchulainn had. Cuchulainn, however, simply looked over slowly toward Lancelot with a mischievous gleam in his red eyes. "And you," he said, "You will be the one to take good care of the queen, am I right?"

"Don't speak of her so crudely," snapped Lancelot.

Arturia backed away from the shed. The fight was over and now they were simply chatting. What they chatted about was making Arturia both afraid and jealous and she couldn't really figure out why they caused this build up inside her. Lancelot had vowed to take care of Gwenivere should Arturia DIE, not before then. Once more, the old fear of Gwenivere no longer there beside her reared its ugly head and she tried to squash it as fast as she could. She saw the look on Gwenivere's face as she watched Arturia back away, a strange sort of sadness coming over her eyes. Was Gwenivere truly a prisoner to the terms she had agreed to so long ago? Was Arturia the same way?

Was Arturia keeping Gwenivere against her will now?

Gwenivere came out of hiding and slapped both men smartly on their cheeks before stalking off in irritation at them both. Cuchulainn raised his eyebrows at her, but smirked faintly, liking the spirit she just showed. Lancelot frowned deeply at Cuchulainn and rubbed his cheek. "She had been listening it seems," said Lancelot softly.

"Aye, and Arturia as well," said Cuchulainn, smirking a bit more. "However, Arturia seems far less likely to pound us both with her sword than our queen is. I might change my preference."

"You do and I'll have your head, dog," said Lancelot.

"You wouldn't be the first," said Cuchulainn before he walked off. Lancelot watched him leave and sighed, rubbing his face as he did so. This whole thing had not gone according to his plans, whatever plans they were.

* * *

Arturia walked into her and Gwenivere's chambers and looked around. The memories she had suppressed coming forth as she gazed at the places where Cuchulainn had affected her so deeply. She rubbed her face and longed to be transformed into a man once more, for the feelings that had resurfaced were far to complicating to want anymore. She had said she had known love as a woman and wanted as a woman did, but that didn't mean she really liked the change that had occurred thanks to that mutt!

A knock behind her on the main chamber door took her away from her thoughts. She was king and by all she had within her she was going to continue that role until she could no longer fulfill it. "Who is it?" she called to the door, "Just come in. I don't care who you are."

The door opened and Cuchulainn stood there in the door way. He smirked faintly at her and walked in, closing the door behind him. Arturia eyed him angrily. He had that smug grin on his face that was so typical of him that it made her want to hit him. "Go away. You are no longer wanted in my court."

"This after I've proven myself to be a worthy knight and promised to you that I would be the only knight you would ever need?" said Cuchulainn as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I refuse to believe that you, above all people, are actually regretting ever meeting me, oh mighty king."

Arturia punched him right on the jaw, forcing him backward a little bit, but he caught her wrist with one of his hands and pulled her over. He kissed her hard as she struggled against him. Yes, it was pretty forced what had occurred, but he hoped that perhaps she would warm back up to it like she had in the past.

She shoved him off of her and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, glaring at him with those blue-green eyes of hers. "How dare you treat me thusly," she hissed at him. "I am your king now, Cuchulainn."

Cuchulainn eyed her coolly. "The king has been shown far more than any king I have ever seen or known."

"I do not welcome any of your attentions, knight," said Arturia softly. "Leave now. I'll not have such insubordination in my court."

"Insubordination?" Cuchulainn now looked furious. "Is it insubordination to get it through that prideful pretty head of yours that perhaps this is not how things should be?"

"It is against my orders, Sir Cuchulainn," said Arturia carefully, now growing colder in her attitude toward him. She was indeed reverting right back to how she was before when he was a ghost. Did he have to be a ghost for her to feel like that again? The thought angered him more so now than when he was dead.

But he could not deny his king. He had pledged himself to her aid and he would fulfill that promise.

Cuchulainn dropped to his knees, defeated by the rigid logic inside his skull. Once more, by his own foolishness, he had created his own end. However, when had he ever gone along with inevitability?

Arturia watched as he stood up and straightened up. She had won and yet he was now back to being as pigheaded as ever with the look of surety that he was want to wear. She frowned at him. What would it take to keep him away from her, to keep those wretched weaknesses that seemed to surface whenever he was around?

He moved swiftly to her and trapped her against the wall behind her, his hands on either side of her head as he leaned toward her. She shoved at him and kicked his shin. He grunted and grit his teeth until he gripped her with one arm and held her tight against him to keep her from running while he nursed his shin with his other foot. "That hurt, you know," he grumbled.

"Why?" she said softly. "Why is it you won't ever leave me to my own destiny? Why is it you have to interfere at every turn?" She had stopped struggling and was now just mumbling into his chest. Why was it that she could not be rid of him as easily as that? She simply wanted things to resume their course. When she was a child, she was brought up as a boy would have been. When she took the sword, she was to be king and reign thusly. Until Cuchulainn appeared, things were going as Merlin had told her they would. She would be king and reign as she was supposed to, she would bring together England as it had been in the past and likely die doing so. That was how it was supposed to go.

So why did it have to be so damnably different now?

If only she had been born a boy, then perhaps this whole situation would not even be occurring now. Perhaps Cuchulainn would simply just be interested in Gwenivere and leave her all alone. After all, Cuchulainn liked women and if Arturia was a man, then she wouldn't be any object in his eyes for his attentions.

Just then, she heard the horns of someone approaching the city. She shoved Cuchulainn away and headed for the door. "Leave me alone. I am king of England and was meant to be so by destiny. Merlin saw it and so it must be. Do not interfere anymore, Cuchulainn, or I will have to do something to make certain you no longer do so." With that, she walked out and left him inside her room.

Cuchulainn watched her leave and sighed, sitting down in one of the plush chairs. "Well, that could have gone better, I suppose," he mumbled to himself and rolled a cigarette. He pulled a small box of matches out and lit it, taking a couple of puffs from it before walking off to get out of the room. She claimed that she was destined to be forever seen as a man. Was his destiny now to be forever wanting her to be otherwise or would he hurt her somehow by wanting? He put out the cigarette and flicked the rest out the window as he passed by it.

Merlin stepped out from his quarters and held up a hand to him. Cuchulainn stopped in his tracks. "Keep a watch on Arthur, Cuchulainn," he said sternly, "For I feel something terrible has come to Camelot."

"Aren't you misinterpreting that to be my presence here, old wizard?"

"I never misinterpret," said Merlin as he put his hand down. "The future changes constantly, destiny or fate does not fully stay on one course, but flows with the events that are in its way like rocks in a river. I feel that you are one unforeseen rock that has guided a strange new path, Sir Cuchulainn, and for that I ask of you to be as close as you can to our King now."

Cuchulainn was surprised by the old wizard. While everyone else begged him to stop pursuing or even coming near Arturia, the wizard felt that he was a good thing that he should be close to Arturia. "May I ask why you require me to be near him? What about his wife?"

Merlin smiled faintly, a bit sadly. "Our past lives should not be a factor in how we function in the future. It's taken me this long to realize that, since I was the one who felt Arthur should lead the course that was set for him back when he first ruled. Now, as I see the effect you had on him and then how he reverted into simply a king and not human anymore, I realize that it was foolish of me to force so much on him." He looked Cuchulainn carefully and nodded slowly. "This is by no means a chance for you to resume your irresponsible behavior, Cuchulainn, but asking you to please befriend him and continue to steer him on the right path. If you don't, I fear that his death and the separation of England are very close at hand."

"What do you mean?" asked Cuchulainn, eyeing the old wizard carefully.

"I mean," said Merlin slowly, "That if you don't try to make Arthur be the way you had caused him to be before, if he does not return to the feelings that he used to have before and if you do not protect him from one very particular danger ahead, he will be doomed to repeat his previous movements. There is a very foul plot afoot and he is central to it. One very foul plot in particular I feel is heading to this very castle. I believe… he is named Mordred."


	19. Chapter Eighteen

_**A/N: :3 I have POM pomegranate hibiscus green tea. :3 'tis love. Also, I'm listening to Legend's Tangerine Dream soundtrack. Let me know if ya'll want me to put it up for ya'll to download, cause it's really cool. All synthesizers, Tangerine Dream put together music for the American release of the Legend movie, which is a fairytale almost. The music reflects that with quiet music in most of it and airy sort of tunes for the good guys and dark, creepy tunes for the bad guys. And then there's Loved By The Sun which you will always catch me humming or singing. I've loved it since I was a kid and I still love it now. **_

_**And chewy is hiding under my lapdesk again, which is on my lap, mind you. **_

_**Chapter Eighteen**_

Mordred was a name Cuchulainn vaguely recognize. And now that he thought of it, perhaps Arthur, Merlin and even Gwenivere were all names he recognized somewhat. It was like he was trying to recall a very old fairytale that he had only partially paid attention to when he was in the otherworld. As he made his way down the stair case he bombarded his brain with continuous questions as to why the names seemed to ring a bell to him. Had he witnessed this old life that these people had led before so long ago? Was Merlin from that time, or had he too been reborn like all the others, like himself?

He found the other knights gathering and went to join them, though he looked for Arturia's small form in amongst them. He finally found her walking out to the stables as well as Gawain and Bedivere. He frowned and jogged after them. "Your highness, do you require me to accompany you as well?" called Cuchulainn, attempting to resume whatever front he had to put up for her in public.

She shot him a very cold look. "I have Gawain and Bedivere. I think that should be sufficient."

"Indeed, are you saying that we aren't good enough to protect the king when we have done so for over ten years?" said Bedivere, his feminine face looking more manly now that he clearly looked very angry toward Cuchulainn.

Gawain, however, saw an opportunity. "Cousin, I'll remain," he said, smiling a similar grin as Cuchulainn. Bedivere looked paler than normal as he eyed Gawain incredulously. "After all, Sir Cuchulainn might be needed in the future to replace any one of us and he should get some more experience under his belt."

"Couldn't ask for a more loyal dog than I, my king," said Cuchulainn, grinning broadly.

"Indeed! No greater a hunting hound as man's best friend!" said Gawain, his grin rivaling Cuchulainn's now.

Arturia looked a bit like she was suffering from a mild headache. She rubbed her temples for a moment and sighed. "All right, Gawain, go back inside. I only need two knights with me to investigate our new guests and no more. Sir Cuchulainn, get a horse, mount it and follow me."

"As you wish," said Cuchulainn, bowing a bit toward her and then looked up her with those red eyes of his, a smile playing across his face, "my king."

Arturia flushed faintly and coughed into her gloved hand before moving her horse away and mounting it. Bedivere moved his horse beside hers and whispered to her. "Why do you keep that fiend around? I know he has definite prowess in battle, but he is insubordinate to every single one of us."

"Except me," said Arturia. "He also respects Gawain."

"He's even insubordinate to you, or has he not been bothering you constantly?"

Arturia flushed more and shot Bedivere a sharp look. "He has not."

"I've heard many things. Even Sir Lancelot takes up arms against him and he's the most chivalrous of us," hissed Bedivere.

"Sir Lancelot enjoys a good battle with a worthy opponent. Seems he doesn't get many here," said Cuchulainn as he checked the saddle on his horse. "And as for my business with our king, that is between him and me. I am the only knight that our king should ever need save from battles where the grander might is needed, oh mighty one-armed bastion of womanly looks."

"Why you—"

"Cuchulainn!" Cuchulainn smirked at Bedivere as Arturia glared at him. "Get on your horse. We're leaving." Then, she turned her horse around and galloped off with Bedivere not far behind her.

Cuchulainn rolled his eyes and mounted his horse, riding off after the little king as quickly as he could. When he caught up, he saw Arturia looking as cold as an ice formation. He sighed and resigned himself to his knightly role. Bedivere, however, eyed him warily. He knew what he had heard when passing through the king and queen's corridor. He wasn't typically one to eavesdrop, but he could not help but wonder when he had seen the blue haired knight knocking on the king and queen's chamber and entering. Did the blue knight fancy men? He certainly didn't seem like it, for his attitude was like Gawain's. If the man did fancy men, then by all means was he to be expelled from Camelot's ranks.

The party headed for Camelot was a small one, comprising only of two people. The banner that was raised was of Lot's house, Arturia's brother-in-law. However, it was not Lot who rode beside her sister Morgan. The man was young, as young as Cuchulainn appeared to be. He pulled off his horned helmet and revealed short, dark curls on his head with Morgan's pale complexion, but his eyes were a vivid blue-green. Of all her children, only Gawain had really looked as though he did not belong to her family with his vivid red hair and green eyes. This boy, however, looked every bit the part of Morgan's son with the exception of his blue-green eyes.

Cuchulainn saw the young man and snorted faintly. This fellow had to be Mordred, if the woman was Morgan. If Merlin's feelings were true, then Mordred was eyeing him with unrestrained disdain as Morgan rode closer to greet her sister.

"Morgan, I had not realized you were going to visit, sister," said Arturia calmly.

"I came to introduce you to my youngest son, Mordred, whom I wish for you to take under your wing as you have my other sons. You have taken great care of your nephews and I wish for you to continue to do so with this latest addition. His father worked very well with training up this far. I hope you will do me the honor of allowing him to join your ranks," said Morgan. By far, Morgan was indeed a gracious and feminine sounding woman. However, there was a coldness to her tone that Cuchulainn had heard far too often in his own past to trust her at her words.

"Indeed, why don't you come and stay at Camelot for a couple of days before returning home. I will send along with you two of my knights to make certain you go home safely, sister," said Arturia.

"Thank you very much, Arthur," said Morgan before bowing her head slightly toward the smaller woman. Indeed, Morgan, even older than Arturia should be, was still a very beautiful woman with long dark curls pulled back under a sheer veil and silver circlet. Her eyes were dark with thick, dark lashes lining them, making her look more sultry than a few women Cuchulainn had seen long ago.

Cuchulainn and Bedivere moved to the outsides of the three; Bedivere was on Arturia's side and Cuchulainn was on Mordred's side. Cuchulainn could feel a strange sensation from being near Mordred and Morgan both. The feeling was a strange and somewhat ominous feeling, as though the magic that touched both was not a good sort of magic.

"So you are the newest recruit of my uncle?" asked Mordred to Cuchulainn.

"Aye, I am," said Cuchulainn, attempting to ignore the young man.

"Then, we will both be training together, I assume."

"I was already trained, lad, when I came here. I proved myself and the king deemed me worthy enough to join his ranks." Cuchulainn was getting irritated for some reason by this boy talking to him. What he was saying wasn't angering, but the intent in his voice was a mocking tone that triggered Cuchulainn's ire. It was so triggering that it was making Cuchulainn feel woozy from the adrenaline starting to pump through his blood.

"Amazing," said Mordred, that mocking, smug tone still reverberating through Cuchulainn's skull.

"What is," snapped Cuchulainn.

"Sir Cuchulainn, please be kinder toward my nephew," said Arturia. Did she not hear the way the boy spoke to him?! Was she deaf to all the mocking that was being lobbed at him like some sort of curse through such simple tones?

Cuchulainn gripped the reigns of his horse as the horse became a bit nervous under him. Mordred smirked at Cuchulainn faintly and looked at him with those blue-green eyes of his. "My, it seems you really are the dog of my uncle," said Mordred softly. "Would you come to me if I said 'heel'?"

"Keep talking and you'll see what sort of hound you've got beside you, brat," muttered Cuchulainn.

That same strange sensation echoed through Cuchulainn's body as Mordred spoke again. "If I had my way, I would have you at my feet and begging for mercy as I cut you open and let you watch me disembowel you. It would be interesting to see how differently a filthy Irishman would be to an Englishman."

Cuchulainn grit his teeth, his teeth threatening to become longer. His hands gripped his reigns as they too threatened to become sharper. An unnatural growl rumbled from his chest as he tried to keep a hold of his senses. Nothing good would come of going into his warp spasm now just because the brat had made a threat toward him. When he wrestled whatever control he had over his instincts, he pushed ahead of the group and headed for Camelot.

"Sir Cuchulainn!!" shouted Arturia angrily. When he didn't stop, she growled and straightened. She would have a private word with him when they reached Camelot castle. In the mean time she had a strange sensation going through her body. She vaguely recalled feeling it once before. It was as though something disgusting had crawled under her skin and had made her do something she had not wanted to.

* * *

Merlin tapped the mirror in front of him with his fingers. The glass rippled where he touched it, like water, and then went still. "Professor Weasley-Riddle, can you hear me?"

"This is the headmaster, actually, unless you really wish to speak to my wife, Merlin," said the calm and very bored tone of the headmaster of the magic school. A man, very good looking with sharp features, appeared in the mirror. His hair was black and very well groomed his skin very pale. His eyes were, however, the darkest blue one could ever hope to see on a person. His appearance seemingly never changed much more than the twenty year old appearance he had now. Merlin often wondered if prolonged exposure to the school simply caused their cell make up to continually grow more magical, but he had no proof of it since everyone he had ever met there came and went from the school with no ill effects.

"Professor Riddle, a pleasure to see you as always," said Merlin, smiling faintly. "I have no real reason to specifically call on Mrs. Riddle, mind you, but she and I do keep in contact when I need some help."

Professor Riddle snorted faintly and leaned back in whatever chair he was in, holding up the mirror more. "Then, what, pray tell oh mighty fairy wizard, do you want from us?" he said sarcastically.

Merlin thought for a little while on the reason he was thinking of calling on the help of his old school. Mordred came to mind as did Morgan. Both people sent unpleasant shivers down his spine at the thought of them. If something should go awry, Arturia needed to be taken away from the castle until a plan could be formed. He knew her sister was plotting something with that unnatural boy, he just couldn't determine exactly what she was plotting.

"I think I have a favor of you. Could you give me a direct port key to the school? I have a feeling it might be needed," said Merlin.

"And for what purpose do you need it for?" asked Professor Riddle. "We're a school, not a magic supply store."

Merlin smiled faintly and attempted to keep his good humor up. After all, this was the headmaster and the headmaster simply did not tolerate much around him. Merlin often wondered why exactly the other teachers had allowed him to take up the role, but he had seen Professor Riddle when he was angry and knew that perhaps the teachers knew that Professor Riddle was probably the best person to reign over the school. He tolerated little from his students and demanded the best of them. He also tolerated little from those who came to the school and was very quick to deal with them if they were not of a peaceable nature.

"Please, Professor, just humor me," said Merlin, sighing as he rubbed his face. "I am very inefficient with portkey spells, so I need you to send me one that goes to the school. I have a bad feeling that I might not be able to help much soon."

Professor Riddle eyed him carefully and sat up in his chair. "All right, Merlin, I will do as you ask. I'll send you one portkey through one of the house elves. It will arrive soon, so don't leave your study."

"Thank you, Professor Riddle," said Merlin, smiling faintly.

"Be wary, Merlin. If you can't help whatever situation you have there, then there is little hope that something can be done," said Professor Riddle softly.

"But there is still hope," said Merlin, smiling a little more at the teacher in the mirror. "And that is the more important thing."


	20. Chapter Ninteen

_**A/N: I have a big kitty trying to attack my feet through the covers and one small kitty hiding under my lap-desk as per usual for him. I've got to play on Wednesday at the Broken Spoke. This will be the first time I've been able to play someplace since we moved in November. Hopefully, I won't see my mom there. w;; that would just make it awkward and unwelcome. However, likely she will be there playing bass as usual for the Broken Spoke. Oh well….**_

_**Chapter Nineteen**_

Merlin heard a loud cracking noise and looked to the small house elf near him, holding up box. The creature did not look like most elfin creatures did. Much like the merpeople, elves varied in their appearance according to the region they lived in, but shared common characteristics amongst each other. House elves, in particular, were of a kind that were very short and thin with large heads and greenish skin, their ears long and bat-like and their eyes large and round. They were hard working and loved to do what was asked of them.

Merlin took the box and nodded to the house elf. "Thank you," he said.

"A pleasure to do the bidding of Master Riddle, sir," it said and bowed, the tea towel it wore made a slight rustling sound as it did so. Then, with a snap of its tiny fingers it disappeared with a loud cracking sound.

Merlin looked to the box and opened it up, finding a ribbon and a note. He pulled out the note and looked at it carefully, seeing the spidery handwriting of the headmaster's scrawled across its surface in green ink.

_Merlin,_

_I'm certain you will receive this in due time, as the house elves are quite proficient in getting to places where most wizards can't without a great deal of difficulty. Camelot is farther south than any one of us could disapperate to, however, the house elves can manage far larger distances due to their own innate powers. _

_The ribbon was what was handy and can be clutched by two people if necessary. I am certain you won't have need of two people joining us here, but you never know. I hope whatever you need it for is not going to happen; because I have a feeling for what purpose you requested this. My school is the safest place in all of the British Islands, after all. _

_Sincerely,_

_Professor Tom Riddle_

_Headmaster of Hogwarts, school of witchcraft and wizardry_

Merlin stowed the note away elsewhere and put the ribbon into his pocket for safe keeping. Then, he stood up and walked to the door. Immediately, he was hit by a very sick feeling inside him. He knew that feeling and didn't like it one bit. Morgan was still there and she was definitely up to something.

* * *

Cuchulainn stayed close to Arturia as well as he could. She was getting very irritated with him, but he didn't let her from his sight for more than a few minutes, aside from her going into her quarters. Morgan was still about and he certainly didn't trust her as far as he could throw her.

"Sir Cuchulainn," said Arturia stiffly, "Why is it that you continue to badger me? Don't you have duties yourself that you ought to be attending?"

"Aye, and one would be you. Merlin sanctioned it," he said, grinning faintly at Arturia. Arturia looked less than amused. "I don't lie, you know," he said.

"Yes, I'm well aware of that, Sir Cuchulainn," said Arturia as she looked away from his still very handsome face. Why did he have to give her that very particular smirk of his whenever she acknowledged that, yes, he was indeed what he said he was? "Please refrain from coming near me, at least, Sir Cuchulainn," said Arturia stiffly, looking away from him deliberately, "Merlin may have told you to watch after me, and I trust his judgment, however, I am your sole authority."

"A sole authority that seems to forget that what drives me is not wholly my loyalty to my king," said Cuchulainn softly.

"It should be." Cuchulainn eyed Arturia as she muttered and moved away from him quickly. He narrowed his red eyes and smirked faintly. If only she had been around when he had been alive previously, he certainly would have made good use of that stiff temperament of hers.

He suddenly had a sick feeling inside of him that caused his mind to almost split. The sleeping boy inside his mind, the lad who had not totally merged with his past life self, was surfacing once more with the sudden sickness that came over Cuchulainn. He leaned against the rock wall of the hallway and attempted to get his senses back to him; meanwhile, Arturia simply kept walking off ahead of him without looking back. Could she not hear him groaning in agony? Surely she was not as deaf and blind to all around her as to ignore the plight of a fellow human being!

And then, all he could see was black.

* * *

Bedivere was in the hallway, looking at Sir Cuchulainn as he looked around and touched the walls with wonder. His hair was bright red and his eyes were a vivid, clear blue. Bedivere frowned deeply. He knew the man in front of him was Sir Cuchulainn, but why did the man suddenly change his hair and eyes? Was he some sort of shape-shifter now?

"Sir Cuchulainn," said Bedivere as he walked closer. The knight didn't turn to him, but kept looking round in awe. "Sir Cuchulainn," he tried again, "What is the matter with you?"

"I'm not home," said the blue knight.

"Of course you aren't," said Bedivere, raising an eyebrow at the man before him.

"This… looks like a castle from a fairytale!" said the blue knight with big, boyish grin plastered on his face. Had his voice grown a little higher too? "I've always wanted to be with the fairies in the fairy kingdom!"

"What on Earth has gotten into you, Sir Cuhculainn?" asked Bedivere as he put a hand on Cuchulainn's arm. "Are you not feeling well? You're covered in sweat and you're very pale."

"Aunt Mary said I get very strange sometimes, talking about a fairy queen sitting under a tree when I sleep or when I play, but I've always seen her. I've always loved her. Maybe she finally took me in?" For the first time Cuchulainn looked to Bedivere and smiled brightly at him, much like a little boy. "Are you one of her knights?"

"Fairy queen?" asked Bedivere.

"Aye, she's very pretty. She has long blonde hair and a pretty smile." He grinned sheepishly and looked away, looking once more around the castle hallway as though he really had found himself in some sort of fairy tale kingdom. "I want to be her knight. I want to be the only knight she'll ever need."

Bedivere frowned even more deeply. Those words were words he had heard before from the man, though, in truth, he seemed to have been joking around at the time. What did he mean by queen? Had he somehow seen the queen, Gwenivere, in his dreams? But, he said she had blonde hair, not brown. And why did he suddenly have red hair and blue eyes?

"Come this way, Sir Cuchulainn, I'll take you to our wizard, Merlin," said Bedivere as he took a hold of Cuchulainn's arm. Cuchulainn looked to Bedivere and smiled brightly once again, freely grinning like a little kid. He must have been able to charm even as a boy with that grin. At least, that was what Bedivere felt when he watched how the man before him seemed to continuously act like a child.

* * *

Gwenivere felt odd, almost ill for some reason. She had been sewing with the other ladies and found herself feeling as though she was going to vomit. She stood up unsteadily and moved quickly outside to get some fresh air into her lungs and to clear her head. Ever since Morgan had arrived the previous day things had suddenly become very uncomfortable inside the castle. Gwenivere didn't trust in Morgan's good intentions to have her son join up and something about the boy made her nauseous just looking at him. His eyes reminded her of Arturia and that felt very wrong to her.

A thought hit her like a brick to her head. The day that Morgan had returned home after visiting her sons brought to mind the incident she still could not explain. Galahad and Gawain and Arturia had assured her nothing had happened, but there was too long a time that had disappeared that day for her to feel that it was right. She had forgotten it mostly due to Morgan's absence and the fact that perhaps it really had been her imagination.

A pair of strong hands placed themselves on her shoulders and she looked around to Lancelot, smiling faintly. Lancelot nodded to her and smiled back, kissing one of her hands. "You do not look well, my queen," said Lancelot. "Perhaps you should go speak to the castle doctor?"

"I will be fine, Lancelot," said Gwenivere as she rubbed his thumb with hers. "Thank you for inquiring to my health."

Lancelot gazed at her and felt his heart pain him with the desire to embrace her or perhaps kiss her. Indeed, the look she gave him made it even more painful for she looked upon him much like a maiden to a prized suitor. He sighed after a moment and released her hand, looking away from her. "My queen, please remember whose face you gaze at and that it is not your husband's."

Gwenivere went red and looked away, coughing into her hand. "Ah, I did not realize that I was looking at you in anyway other than one of my king's knights, Sir Lancelot," she said quickly.

"Indeed, you were fair heated in your gaze upon me, my queen," said Lancelot, smirking faintly.

"Now really!" gasped Gwenivere as she crossed her arms in front of her chest and looked away with a huff. "I'm queen to a king and I know my place. Don't accuse me of such behavior."

"Oui, and you enjoy a certain amount watching your knight play to your charms," said Lancelot.

Gwenivere opened her mouth and closed it repeatedly, somewhat resembling a fish for a few moments before she huffed and smacked his arm. He laughed and she turned red, though she chuckled a little behind her hand. This was how a woman and a man were to interact with one another when they felt the same way as the other did. This was flirtation and attraction, not duty and whatever else she had been privy to while playing queen to another girl's king.

"I see you are enjoying being outside with one of my fellow knights," said a rather snooty sounding voice. Gwenivere gasped and looked behind her to see the young man that Morgan had brought with her as her son. Once more, Gwenivere felt as though she were looking into the perversion of Arturia's eyes. The face was that of a very handsome young man with sharp features, pale skin and dark curled hair, but the eyes were all Arturia, though colored with malice.

"I was merely enjoying a lively conversation," said Gwenivere.

"Indeed," said Mordred, smiling coldly. "I enjoy a good conversation too, but usually not with a queen. Mayhap I might indeed join this conversation?"

"Decidedly not," said Gwenivere as she picked up her skirts and walked off.

"My, the queen doesn't seem to like me, Sir Lancelot. Could it be that I'm not as charming as you are?" asked Mordred.

Lancelot eyed Mordred for a moment and shook his head. "No," said Lancelot before he walked away from Mordred. He always had a strange feeling whenever Mordred was near him, as though the boy were mocking him. Galahad and Gawain as well didn't seem to like him, but Agravaine and Gaheris both enjoyed the boy's company. Several of the other knights and soldiers alike enjoyed the young man's presence, calling him witty and such things. It was as though a spell were coming over Camelot and there was nothing Lancelot or anyone could do to stop it.

Lancelot could only hope that when Morgan left that the spell would be broken and normal life would resume as it had for so many years. With that hope in his heart, he walked off as quickly as possible to find some sort of solace while that witch and her son were in the castle. After all, how could he accuse the king's own sister and nephew of foul play without further proof?

* * *

Merlin raised his eyebrows at the once proud hound of Ulster as he was ushered into his quarters by Bedivere. Bedivere frowned deeply at the old wizard and gently shoved the smiling, red haired Cuchulainn at him. "I have no idea what occurred in his head, but currently he's out of it and someone else has taken his place."

"In layman's terms, he's nutters, correct?" asked Merlin with some small amount of amusement.

"Aye, that would be right," said Bedivere. "I would say he's gone especially loony because of how young he seems in his head. You don't think he's gone elsewhere in his head because of stress, do you?" Bedivere highly doubted that given that Cuchulainn was probably the most laid back individual he had ever seen since Gawain.

Cuchulainn crouched down and watched some of Merlin's little planet collection swirl around each other on metal wires. Merlin eyed him for a moment and then looked back at Bedivere. "I'll keep him here for observation. I've been feeling out of sorts today and I think it may be a part of it. Perhaps it is a strange alignment of the planets that might resolve itself in a couple days time."

"Perhaps," said Bedivere. He bowed to Merlin and walked out, closing the door behind him. Once more, the magical seals Merlin kept in his quarters sealed the room tight from sound escaping.

"Sir Cuchulainn, are you quite all right," asked Merlin, leaning on his desk.

Cuchulainn continued to stay crouched as he watched the model of the heavens move around and around. When he did speak, he had a strange look in his vivid, clear blue eyes. "I'm not in a fairy castle, am I?" It wasn't said as a question, but rather a statement to be agreed or disagreed upon.

"No, you are in Camelot castle and you are a knight of the round table," said Merlin, carefully observing his odd behavior.

Cuchulainn scratched at his head and reached back to the tie holding the long portion of his hair back. He blinked and pulled the long red tail over his shoulder and looked at it before looking back at the planetary model once more. "I'm… not supposed to be here. The other me belongs here, not me."

"The other you?" Merlin was intrigued now. Had Cuchulainn been reborn and part of his soul simply wasn't fully integrated into the body he was reborn into? If so, that would explain how Cuchulainn was now acting like a very lost little boy. That being said, the little boy in question was somehow entranced and coming to life by watching the planetary movements of the model in front of him.

"Aye, the other me. The pretty fairy queen came down and talked to me at the old tree, but after that I don't remember much of what happened. I sometimes come out to take a look around, but then I go back asleep. Now that I think about it, I'm a man aren't I?" said Cuchulainn softly.

"Yes, you are. You are the reincarnation of the hero Cuchulainn."

Cuchulainn smiled faintly and poked the planet Neptune gently. "I told her I wanted to be her knight," said Cuchulainn softly. Merlin gazed at him gently, smiling very faintly. "I need to fully merge with my other self. I'm not sure how to, though."

"I might be able to find something. For now, I need to figure out what forced you from your sleep inside your mind," said Merlin as he sat down and picked up a book. "After all, you have been sleeping for a while I expect. That man's will is far stronger than anyone else's."

"I was feeling sick," said Cuchulainn as he poked Neptune again. "I felt like throwing up and then I came up and he was asleep. Magic is in the air."

"Magic? Of course there is, Arthur's sword is magi and so am I," said Merlin.

"No."

Merlin looked up finally at Cuchulainn, a dread spreading through him as he saw the man/boy looking out the window. "What do you mean, Cuchulainn?"

"Magic is what caused me to be nauseous. A magic spell has been woven," said Cuchulainn. "Magic that will hurt my fairy queen." With that, he turned and ran out of the room.

Merlin shot from his feet, dread forming a lump in his stomach as heavy as a rock. There was only one other in the castle that could cast magic and she was none too friendly to anyone. He too stood up quickly and ran out, the ribbon in his pocket a reminder of his only option should he be unable to get to Morgan.

In the great hall was where he heard a yelp of pain from a woman. He found Morgan on the ground, holding her hand which was bleeding. Cuchulainn, red hair and blue eyes, stood in front of Arturia and looked very much like he was afraid he would have to fight before he was ready. The boy had indeed the spirit of Cuchulainn inside him.

Merlin looked around him and frowned. No one was moving. Instead, they just looked on as though they were in a trance. Arturia glared at Cuchulainn. "Put your sword away, Sir Cuchulainn!" she snarled.

"How dare you harm my mother!" snarled Mordred. "Agravaine, Gaheris, Gawain! Help me protect mother from this fiend!"

Agravaine and Gaheris did as they were bade, but Gawain stood back, his eyes entranced, but deep inside those vivid green eyes was a spark of intelligence. The spell had not wholly worked on him!

"Indeed! Cuchulainn! I ordered you to stand down!" snarled Arturia.

Morgan stood up slowly and held her bleeding hand, smirking faintly at Merlin. "I win," she said. She flicked a wand and soon other knights were moving toward Cuchulainn, Merlin and Arturia, swords drawn.

"Bedivere! Garret! Galahad!" she cried at them, but to no avail, for they advanced on her and the only knight still protecting her.

Merlin pulled the ribbon out and knocked the knights away from the pair of them with his staff. He smirked at Morgan and winked at her. "You've not won yet, Morgan." Then, he grabbed both Arturia's hand and Cuchulainn's hand and wrapped the ribbon around their hands before moving away from them. A strange pull behind Arturia's navel forced her to fly through the air, or at least feel as though she was being pulled along through the air at top speed, with no telling where she'd land next.

Merlin sighed when the pair disappeared from his sight and looked to Morgan once more. The knights surrounded him and took hold of his staff and his arms. Morgan grunted and healed up her hand with her wand. "Now, that wasn't fair," said Morgan. "You had a portkey on you."

"Yes, I did. I knew something might occur soon that I would need the portkey to transport Arthur away from here with," said Merlin. "To someplace you can't go."

"I learned from there same as you did, Merlin," said Morgan, smirking at him, "And that means even I can enter that school."

"Not now. They know better and you forget that there are people there that KNOW you," said Merlin, grinning. "And that means that I have won, not you, Morgan."

Morgan slapped Merlin hard enough that blood spurted from his lip. He turned to look at her and she eyed him coldly with dark eyes. "Do not think you are free to say as you are please now, Merlin. I'm in charge now." With that, she snapped her fingers and the knights hauled Merlin away.

Mordred frowned. "Mother, you said I was to be king. A king is the only one to rule, not a queen."

Morgan eyed Mordred and smiled. "Ah, yes, I forget myself, son. I was caught up in dealing a blow to Merlin."

"Indeed," said Mordred, eyeing his mother suspiciously. He snorted and walked over to the high seat, picking up the circlet that Arturia typically wore off the floor and placed it on his head. "I am now king on this land," he announced loudly to the people present, "And that means you all belong to me."


End file.
